Advice from a small town girl

I have a recurring dream.

I actually think of it as a nightmare, but it doesn’t feature monsters or murderers.

It features forgetting.

In the dream, I am sitting in the hallway of my college dormitory, playing cards with a group of my friends, when I suddenly realize that I have forgotten to go to my forestry final. A surge of adrenaline (or some equally uncomfortable biological substance) floods my body, and I know that I will never graduate.

The dream goes on for quite a while after that, and I usually wake believing that I no longer have a college degree.

Then I gradually remember and realize that it’s a dream. I did go to my forestry final (and all the others) and I did graduate. I might even be able to find my diploma.

If only it were so simple in real life.

Because, of course, the surge of adrenaline happens to me fairly frequently. And after that first surge, the feeling drops down to sit in my belly. It's sort of like butterflies on steroids.

I’m never sure if my forgetfulness is a consequence of being overloaded with “responsibilities” or if it’s a harbinger of things to come. My mother wasn’t diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease until she was in her late eighties, but you never know.

I forget things.

It’s bad enough when I forget my haircut appointment, or to take my nephew’s wedding gift to the wedding, but last week I forgot something important. Important to me, anyway, and possibly to Odessa.

I forgot to go to a meeting.

It was a meeting I wanted to go to, unlike some. I thought it was important, and it would have been very helpful in our quest to rejuvenate Old Town Hall.

But I forgot.

In my head, I know this is not fatal. The world will not come crashing to an end because I forgot to go to a meeting. Nor will our plans for Old Town Hall.

But in my heart (or wherever those giant butterflies have taken up residence), I know it is fatal. It’s fatal for that “I can do that” attitude that I’m so proud of.

And there, friends, is the truth of the matter. I’m probably not nearly as upset about missing the meeting as I should be. I’m probably more upset because now everyone knows I’m not perfect, and that hurts my pride.

Which, in turn, is probably a good thing, because we all know that pride goeth before a fall. If this is as far as I fall, that’ll be okay.