Dementia Worse Than my 84 Year old Dead Grandmother

Sometimes I am certain I am losing my mind. I wonder if I have the early onset of Alzheimer’s. Maybe I need to buy that Brain Age crap or take some gingko biloba. I do things like put my cell phone in the refrigerator or throw my car keys in the trash.

I am the queen of the wardrobe malfunction. One time I wore my pants inside out to an interview. Looking down as I crossed my legs I suddenly noticed the seams of my pants. From that point forward I could not focus on what was being said to me. When the interview was over I walked out of the room in somewhat of a backwards motion with my hands glued to my sides. It goes without saying it was a shiesty as hell organization because the next day they offered me a job. Yes, I took the job. But I quit soon after. Who would hire someone who wears their paints inside out? And why would I want to work for those kinds of people?

Several years ago I wore two different shoes to work, one black chunky healed loafer and one brown square toed lace-up chunky heal shoe. It was only after three hours into work that I tripped over what I presume was an air pocket (because there was nothing visibly there to trip over) and noticed I was wearing two different shoes.

Earlier this year I picked up my son from school with a pair of capri’s on that had a huge hole in the back. Prior to that I had been to the store and the post office, but no one bothered to say “dear, your ass is hanging out.”

When we arrived home my son started laughing at me. When I asked him why, he said, “Mom, I can see your panties.”

Last Sunday I wore my shirt inside out to church. I didn’t notice until half way through the day.

People always ask me how does this happen? Do I get dressed in the dark? Umm, no I can’t say that I do. It seems my mind is always somewhere else thinking about something else, and I am paying little attention to what I am putting on my body.

This lack of clear and cohesive thinking no doubt plays a large part in my inability to become gainfully employed. I have long since given up, but from time to time I toy with the idea of a job, because I would like to be a valued member of society with an occupational title. Going into the interview nuttier than a crack whore never wins me any offers. Perhaps I could collect disability. No wait, I need to incarcerated or dead before it is determined that my condition is serious enough for that. In either case both conditions would prevent from collecting anyways.

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