Two Pints and a bit of a Think

And also a bit of a read and a packet of hunky Dorys cheese and onion.

Here’s the new plan: get my shit together.

This involves two distinct and necessary actions;
1. Stop forgetting things. More on  this later.
2.Do stuff, as opposed to talking about/imagining /planning to do stuff.

Regarding the forgetting of things, I came home yesterday to find my brother and his missus were visiting which I then remembered was pre-planned and I’d been informed well in advance, but it had slipped my mind. The bro then said he couldn’t make it over to the gym on the previous monday to pick up some timber as we had planned but sure wasn’t I supposed to have called him to arrange it?

What? Now its out in the air it does have the ring of something likely about it, but as for actually remembering the arrangement, no , not really. But I manage a convincing ah sure don’t worry about it, we’ll get that shit done during the week.

Today, the same Brother calls me to apologise for again not making it over to the gym as arranged yesterday but shit came up, and he hoped I hadn’t been hanging around waiting.  I explained that I’d only been there for a wee while myself and yakked on about not wanting to keep wee Róisín around such a dusty place, all the while sweating dishonesty and trying desperately to give the impression I knew what the fuck he was talking about.

This is normal.

For most of my life I thought that everybody was fundamentally in the same boat as me, but that they had paid more attention at certain critical points or developed better systems for remembering things.

Nope. Turns out I’m pretty fucking special.

Have you seen  that movie Memento? For me that movie was an almost religious experience, and still rates as one of my all time top 5.
Because I live in a world only a couple of degrees of severity away from that poor bastard, and that’s not normal consensus reality at all. I know, I’ve checked.
Sometimes my lovely missus tells me something, like an update in someone’s story, like Johnny’s  uncle has started chemotherapy for his tumor, something important and serious and noteworthy like that. And I ask, did I know about the tumor? And my lovely missus says yes, we talked about it a couple of weeks ago.

This is normal. I’m not embarassed to ask about whether I previously knew something that I obviously should know, and she’s rarely suprised or annoyed.

How exactly I’m going to fix this I don’t have the faintest idea. I am most likely suffering from something with a name, some temporal form of dyslexia or some funky shit with lots of z’s x’s and k’s,  pointy-lettered mental quirkiness.

Then there’s the doing stuff prong of this lightening-war attack on lifestyle.
For a start I’m going to excrete  three posts a week on this blog. Quality be damned, one of the many billion things I want to do is learn to write and the only way to improve at anything is to do loads of it. If  the art of punching people in the head has taught me anything its that repetition builds ability.

So to summarise: I have a plan that involves remembering not to forget, without any mechanism in place to make that lofty goal achievable, and  a firm resolution to make the life altering move from one post a month to three a week, provided I remember to write them.

Turning your life around is so straight-forward that it’s a wonder there’s any homeless folk at all. Maybe they just don’t like  houses?

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