My View: Life’s small waste are no large deal

February 7, 2017 - accent chair

By Cathy Tallady

It’s a new year and, like many people, we sat down final month to take stock. What happened in 2016? What did we gain? What did we lose?

I gained a new friend. Good. we gained a small weight. (For me, good, since I’m too thin.) we gained another birthday. Very good! No reason needed.

What did we lose? Like many people my age, we mislaid a small vision. And we mislaid a small conference since we have to spin adult a volume on a TV.

And we got to meditative about waste – those left and those going – differently famous for me as only “losing it.”

So, we know I’m losing it when we can’t even get a punch line in a elementary comic strip. we have a same problem when I’m examination TV and everybody is shouting though me.

I know I’m losing it when we hit a same pencil off a finish list by my chair onto a floor,  day after day. Yet we reinstate it any time, so it can repeat a descent. (Isn’t that a really clarification of insanity?)

I know I’m losing it when we see people we know, and they know me, though we can’t remember their name. I’m behaving weird, and we know it, and they’ll substantially never pronounce to me again.

I know I’m losing it when we remove 3 hubcaps in 3 months. One while perplexing to get tighten adequate to a drive-through window during a bank, one on a hilly side of a friend’s drive and one while nudging a dump box outward a post bureau – a receptacle aptly named.

I know I’m losing it when we can’t remember how to spell wily difference like vacuum, diarrhea and pneumonia. (Did we know that pneumonia contains all 5 vowels?)

I know I’m losing it when we put something in a special place where I’m certain I’ll remember it, and afterwards we don’t.

I know I’m losing it when we know that tainted snacks aren’t good for me, though we eat handfuls of them anyway.

I know I’m losing it when we can’t remember if we took my medicine even if I’m station in front of a medicine cabinet. we have to check if my celebration potion is wet. (And when did we go from a word medicine to medication? Shouldn’t it be called a remedy cabinet?)

I know I’m losing it when I’m typing on a mechanism and unexpected adult pops an meaningful notice that I’ve done a terrible error. we don’t know how or what we did, though we feel intensely guilty. And we can’t repair it.

I know I’m losing it when we can’t subtract 9 from 17 but regulating my fingers.

I know I’m losing it when we can’t follow a tract of an hourlong poser on TV, even if a actors don’t have an English accent, or when we remove lane of that impression is who in a novel and we have to spin behind a pages to get reacquainted.

I know I’m losing it when we call for assistance for a problem to some lost company, and we can’t pull a numbers quick adequate and we have to lapse to a categorical menu or wait to be discovered by a genuine live chairman who has an accent we can’t understand.

I know I’m losing it when we can’t find my walk-around phone and we travel around and around looking for it and impiety a definition of a really name.

I know I’m losing it when we counterpart into a recesses of my fridge and learn something immature that we don’t commend during all, and it’s apparently taken on a life of a own.

And finally, we know I’m truly losing it when we haven’t laughed out shrill during slightest once during a whole day.

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