Forgetful Jones

My parents left for their current country of residence last Thursday. When I was in college and my early twenties, I went galavanting off to places like India shaking my head at my parents' concern for my well-being. But now every time they leave, I can't wait until I hear that they've arrived at their destination safely. I would like to say that it was my deep and heartfelt concern that made the following episode (not) occur, but I'm pretty sure that's not it.

As I mentioned once before, I play my flute at church with the worship team on a fairly regular rotation schedule. The Thursday before we play, we always have a rehearsal. We played last Sunday, so of course we had a rehearsal scheduled for the corresponding Thursday. I was well aware of this. I had been conscious for weeks that I was playing on the 16th because various other momentous things (like Ex-Roommate-Sarah's bridal shower, for one) were also happening that day, so it was suitably highlighted in my mind.

I was also conscious of the rehearsal if for no other reason than that I had had conversations (real or virtual) about it with various worship team members all week. The very day of said rehearsal, it came up in my mind as I was bidding farewell to my parents.

Then I went upstairs to be productive or something, and felt kind of sad about the empty house, and watched some TV and went to bed. You may have noticed that I did not mention going to worship team rehearsal. That's because I didn't go. I didn't even realise I had missed it until I was drifting off to sleep, although once I did realise it, I couldn't sleep at all.

Actually, I became quite distressed, because this is the second time this has happened for that particular activity, and I did the same thing for Pioneer Clubs once. The particularly terrifying detail for me in this case was that during the very rehearsal I was missing, I happened to scan my calendar for something else and my eyes lit on the note I had written myself that I was playing on Sunday, and I still didn't realise what I was missing. You may recall that my Grandpa Madeira had Alzheimer's for something like 15 years before he went Home just before Christmas last year. I began to fret that I was going to become the youngest diagnosed victim of the disease.

"Fret" might be putting in mildly, I suppose. Actually, I had little melt-down. I thought I must be going crazy. I started talking to God out loud, as I do sometimes when I'm alone and upset. Then I thought that the fact that I was talking to Someone I couldn't see might be further proof in some people's minds that I was going nuts. Under normal circumstances this would have made me smile at myself, but for some reason (maybe because part of me felt like being frightened and angry) it didn't work that time.

The deep underlying irony, of course, was that the primary reason (followed by job decisions, parents leaving, roommates moving out, trying to decide if a new roommate is moving in, and relational adjustments) that I keep forgetting things is that I'm not getting enough sleep. And the reason I wasn't getting any sleep that night was because I couldn't get out of my head the detail that I hadn't been able to get into it when I needed it. (Well, that, and I had to get up at 3.45 a.m. Again.)

My mother (who hasn't heard this story before this writing) recently sent me an article about steps to take to be a more optimistic person--and why you should be. (Incidentally, she thinks I'm more optimistic than I used to be--and she's right. But clearly, as noted above, I have these relapses . . .) None of the things I did on Thursday were on the list. But neither was sleeping, I don't think. I'm pretty sure that (along with laughing at myself now) will help. Hahahahaha! Good night!