Trask Avenue

I used to carry around a pocket-sized notepad to jot down random thoughts and ideas, including the vital task of assembling my Christmas wish list, but I stopped doing so several years ago. I’m not sure why. I probably simply forgot it one morning and that was that. Apparently, it doesn’t take much to establish a new pattern with me. I hope I don’t forget to slip into my pants one morning. Now I realize I need to smash that new pattern, which is now an old pattern, and return to my old pattern, but not the old pattern which used to be my new pattern. Got that?

At several points today things occurred to me which had the seedlings of something about which to write. I’m not convinced they would’ve blossomed into fully formed pieces, but they would’ve stood a chance. As it stands now I can’t remember a blasted one of those topics. Because I didn’t write them down. In a pocket-sized notepad perfect for such things. So here I sit racking my brains (not to be confused with braining a rack) trying to remember these germlets of ideas. Or even just one.

If only I had written them down.

Tomorrow I will find one of those little pocket-sized notepads and do what one does with these things – pop it my pocket like a Dorko Supreme. Then when I’m struck by a thought that maybe perhaps sorta kinda I would like to explore further I can scribble it down in my illegible hand printing. The question is how will I remember to do this, how will I remember to secure a pocket-sized notepad? A string around my finger will have me wondering why my finger is lassoed like a horse thief as I rub the sleep from my eyes. A note on a piece of scrap paper will undoubtedly get swept away by the four strong winds. I can ask the lovely Ms. Trask to remind me, but why saddle her with the responsibility of being my failing memory? I could ask Red to remind me, but I’d rather she concentrate on remembering all her homework assignments. I could form a company whose sole mission it is to call people like me with reminders. Like a hotel wake-up call, except without the hotel or the wake-up. However, pushing the incorporation through the Delaware legal system by tomorrow morning might be tricky. I could paint a message on my kitchen wall in 456 point font, but that requires digging out the paint and paint brush. I could use spray paint instead, but if you think I’m going to Home Depot after the sun has set you must be the same person who thinks the Cubs have a shot when spring rolls around. Let’s face it, the only foolproof solution is to write “get a pocket-sized notepad” in a pocket-sized notepad. You can see my dilemma.

Perhaps the greatest irony is when I used to carry one of those things my memory was far better than it is today. I’d whip it out at the end of the day and scan all my notes. As I read each one I’d think, “Well, duh. I know that. And I know that. And I know that too.” Clearly my subconscious embarrassed my conscious into “forgetting” the notepad one morning. I hate when I bully myself.

Tonight I will load up on the Ginkgo biloba. I’ll learn all the nifty tricks in The Memory Book. I’ll eat well and sleep right and tomorrow maybe, just maybe, I’ll remember to wear pants.