My brunette is showing

I'm not old enough to be forgetting things like I do.

I've had genuine panic attacks from not being able to recall what I ate for lunch or if I locked the door on my way out of the house.

I truly forgot my birthday one year, and no, I wasn't soaking in a pool of self-pity that I reached the 22-25 age group. I just literally forgot after running around campus all day.

The worst part isn't even birthdays or anniversaries, which everyone is expected to forget eventually. It's all the little things - where I put the keys, the grocery list, the remote, did I put that check in the mail?

I recently used a pair of my trimming scissors to trim up my dog, Ryfle, who is somewhat of a pansy about the clippers being near his nose.

The last time he "allowed" me to trim the bridge of his nose, he jerked his head around and ended up with a chunk of hair missing. (I don't blame him for being hinky, I would be too if I had to look like a lopsided clown for four months.)

Thus, those scissors are vitally important to our clipping procedure - he refuses to allow me to use anything else.

Admittedly, I stole those scissors from Mom one day, years ago, and claimed them as my own. I like them - they work perfect for Ryfle's bangs, as well as my own.

So when they went missing several weeks ago, I was not pleased, but I knew it was my fault. After I finished with Ryfle, I put them down somewhere, gave him a bath and forgot to return them to the bathroom.

Then I forgot about them for a couple weeks, and by the time I remembered, they were long gone. I looked everywhere I thought they might be, because by that time, I also forgot where I initially put them down.

My beloved scissors were missing in action for a good three months, until one night while shuffling around the house once again, complaining they were misplaced, Mom conveniently tells me right where they are.

I have serious doubts about her innocence in all that scissor business, but I'll let it slide.

The real problem is, I get obsessed when I've lost something, and although I can't remember where it is to save my life, I sure remember it's lost. It would be better if I just forgot the whole ordeal but ... no.

In moments of crazed delusion, I actually consider the possibility of mischievous sprites stealing my possessions while I'm asleep and flitting away to hide them, so they can enjoy my frantic disheveling of the room later.

I get so angry sometimes that I just start losing grip with reality. For some reason, I insist that the item must be in one exact location, no matter how fuzzy my memory is on where it was last.

During my search, I'll check this location over and over again, wondering why it isn't there the next time I look. And of course, each time I make the rounds, my eyes pop out of my head a little and my hands start shaking.

The last time I lost my keys, I dumped my purse three times. Why the first two times didn't satisfy my suspicions, I have no idea. The same things fell out and went back in each time.

If I saw someone else going back to the same place every time to look, with that wild look in their eyes, I'd think they had gone nutty.

In the end, I will now and forever attribute my forgetfulness of late to the concussion I received in eighth grade.

All I really remember that day is the paramedics packing my frozen body off the ice block that Snow Creek apparently considered a triumph in artificial snow production.

Seeing the huge knot on my head, (oh yes, I plowed head-first into the ground), the paramedic asked me what day it was. I recall having a small panic attack as I tried to remember, until finally I said, "Saturday?"

I also recall ornery Mr. Royer walking beside the stretcher and laughing. "Oh, she's fine then. She never knows what day it is."

I think I even forgot to pay him back later for teasing me while half-conscious.

All this forgetfulness because of a little bump on the ice - why didn't I stay on the bunny slope?

-------

Katy Blair is an Effingham native and Globe reporter. She can be reached at 367-0583, Ext. 214 or at katyblair@npgco.com.