Memory, All Alone in the Moonlight

Apologies for the CATS lyric, but I’ve started to lose my memory. Not in a drastic, “Where do I live again?” type of way. I still know my address. I still wear my bra on the inside of my shirt. The Austin police hasn’t had to set up a Silver Alert for me yet. There’s no “BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR A CONFUSED AND SURLY BLOND OLDIE IN A BLUE VOLVO, PROBABLY LISTENING TO MANILOW’S GREATEST HITS AND EATING WHATABURGER FRIES” sign flashing on the highway. But ever since I turned 45 or so, my memory isn’t as sharp as it once was. I now experience a few memory … lapses? Is that the word? Lapses? Or is it prolapses? Hold on while I Google.

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