Brain Fog

Memory? I don't know where it went. Perhaps a virus ate it a long time ago. Perhaps it fell in a vent.

It first disappeared when I was really young, and I couldn’t find my way home. After I drove by a number of times, I had to call my mother on the phone.

Years later it disappeared again when my doctors prescribed too many powerful meds. Instead of getting better, I had to make good friends with my bed.

A few times I’ve had amnesia and felt like I was hopelessly lost. Then I had to dig my way out of a metaphorical deep freeze and wait for my brain to defrost.

I learned many life lessons but soon forgot, so I’d have to learn them again. Many times I couldn’t remember places I’ve lived and certainly couldn’t remember when.

I recognize people I know, but can't remember from where. It's embarrassing when I pretend I do while I stare at the color of their hair.

I knew your name yesterday, but today I've forgotten. Fortunately, I didn't leave anything in the refrigerator to get rotten.

I file papers neatly into organized folders. But somehow the piece of paper I need must have been moved by an invisible soldier.

I wrote something down on a piece of paper so I won’t forget what it is. But the paper seems to have relocated itself, and I’m sure it knows it won’t be missed.

I've driven to that place at least six times so far, but still need my GPS to tell me where to turn. You’d think by now I would have figured it out, and to be frank, it has me concerned.

Once I was about to go somewhere but couldn’t remember where I put my keys. I finally gave up, unzipped my jacket, and found them hooked to the neck of my tee.

I can’t remember what I eat for meals, so I log what I eat in a book. Then when I get hungry, I can flip through the pages and look.

I just ate lunch an hour ago, but I forgot to write it down in my log. Now I can’t remember what I had, and my mind is lost in a fog.

I went to the store to purchase something, but now I can’t remember what. I looked around and went home again. It would have been easier to have it delivered by truck.

After 43 moves, I better stay put and never move again. That way my car can remember where home is, and I won’t have to make anymore new friends.

When I wake up in the morning, I can't remember the day before. It turned out I no longer need to worry when I go to bed at night because I can't even remember what I wore.

I have to read what I write many times--because by the time I get to the next paragraph, what I already wrote has slipped my mind.

I write articles and stories which I publish on my blog and in books, then promptly forget they exist. It’s nice to have books to read again, so my experiences don’t evaporate into mist.

Sometimes I wonder if what I wrote about really happened or whether they were just illusions. Thinking like this can surely stir up quite a bit of confusion.

I’ve saved thousands of digital files, but now I wonder why. Maybe I thought I would read them, I can’t remember I have them, and I can’t take any of it with me when I die.

I wonder if all my ideas come from a completely different part of my brain. Somehow they weave their way down to my fingers, without the need for me to retain.

Memory, oh memory, where art thou now? I even forget to breathe sometimes, and it's not because I don't know how.

I forget to breathe while I sleep and need a machine to jumpstart my lungs. I forget to breathe while I stand at the kitchen sink because my legs were stronger when I was young.

Of course, when you don’t get enough oxygen, brain cells will certainly die. I know I should meditate daily and deep breathing can make me feel high.

Exercise can do the same thing with your blood pumping swiftly through your veins. It really feels good when I remember to, and I simply must take control of the reins.

My internet just went out again, and I wonder if my brain disconnects the same way. I suppose it no longer matters because I can’t remember what I was going to say.

I'm surprised I made it here to be with you and even more surprised if I remember your name. It's not that I don't care about you, my memory is to blame.

There is some good news in all of this, sometimes a memory floats to the surface. But I have to catch it quickly before it loses its sense of purpose.

I’ll read this poem a hundred times, and each time it will be brand new. It will spark a smile and entertain me, and I hope it has entertained you.