Originally published by The Clifton Courier, November 10, 2022

I think my brain is taunting me*.

*Yeah, look, a bit of a central theme here.  

Lately, it’s been reminding me I’ve forgotten something… but only just after it’s too late to do anything about it. 

I’m totally across the definition of forgetting – forgetting is not remembering something. Sometimes that’s because the memory is completely gone, but most of the time it’s because there’s some other thought going around in your brain that’s louder than the thing you’re supposed to remember. And that takes all the focus away from that, even though the thing you’re supposed to remember is still sitting there, somewhere in the background. It’s not so much that you’ve forgotten the thing you were supposed to remember; you’ve just not remembered to remember it.  

That’s the rationalisation I give when I forget to wish someone a happy birthday even when I know the date of their birthday. Like, if you were ask me what day my friend’s birthday is, I’d be able to tell you without skipping a beat: November 4. And if you were to ask me what date it was last Thursday, I’ve have been able to tell you it was November 4. But I didn’t put two and two together until I saw some social media posts about her big day. 

I knew when her birthday was, but I couldn’t make that connection without being prompted. And maybe that’s a symptom of this busy modern existence, or a consequence of my drinking habits or a sign I need to eat more vegetables*, but I at least understand it. 

* Depression! Depression was the reason!

Forgetfulness happens. 

But what really makes me mad is when you remember something shortly after the crucial time. Like, if you can remember a second after it’s too late, why couldn’t you have remembered it juuust before it was too late?

It’s like when I remembered I forgot my lunch, but only just after I’d left. Or that I’d forgotten to look for my birth certificate at my parents’ house, but only after I’ve just got on the highway home (which reminds me: Mum, do you know where my birth certificate is?). 

Or the time I locked myself out of my own house. 

On this particular day, I’d decided to spend an hour or two wondering around aimlessly outside in the hopes the gentle exercise and exposure to nature would magically solve all my problems before work. 

I usually put my house key in the hidden zip-up key pocket in my running shorts and check it’s in there before I leave the house. But, for some reason, I didn’t do that on this day. I stepped outside, pushed the lock in and pulled the door closed behind me. 

As soon as I heard the click of the door closing I remembered: I didn’t have a key in my pocket.

And I just think that was pretty rude on my brain’s part. 

Like, clearly it had the capacity to remember that I’d not put key in my pocket. It knew that I needed a key to get back in. It knew that I’d locked the door. It had all these facts at its disposal and it had the ability to bring it to my attention. 

But instead of choosing to bring it to my attention at time when I could do something about it, it decided to alert me to these facts a mere millisecond after I was powerless to act on that information. 

And, sure, my knowing that I’d locked myself out straight away meant I was able to pop over to a friend’s place, borrow the spare key I’d given her and get back inside before I had to leave for work, but I almost think I’d be less upset if I’d only remembered I was keyless as I was trying to get back into the door after my walk. That would be easier to swallow, I think, because it would have felt more like a genuine moment of forgetfulness rather than a setup. 

This way felt almost like my brain was luring me into trap, like it was playing a game of chess and had to wait for just the right moment to take me down and then rub my face in it. “You fool!” I imagine it gleefully proclaiming, “you locked yourself out because you forgot your key and I’m not going to let you forget it!”

And I haven’t. 

Now, whenever I leave the house I make sure I have my hands on my key as I pull my door closed, so I guess I’ve learned my lesson.