Have
You
Lost
Your
Mind
Yet?
Part I
If
you are growing older, you no doubt are also growing weary of the
number of times you are asked to fill out various forms. You don’t
have to be a baby boomer to know what I am referring to. The longer
we are around, the older we get, the greater the number of forms we
have to fill out. I am getting tired of it.
It
takes more time filling out medical forms than it does to have the
examination. And it takes longer to fill out your IRS tax return
than it does to spend the money you earned in that calendar year.
What
ever happened to the good old days when paper and ink were conserved?
Have we lost those days forever?
I
have good news. I am going to petition the U.S. Congress and ask
them to enact a new Paper Work Act – The Paper Work Act for Lost
Minds. An Act, so incredibly feasible, they will wonder why someone
else hadn’t previously suggested it to them.
Imagine
going to a doctor’s office for the first time, and instead of
filling in answers to a long list of questions, just answering one
big question – “Have you lost your mind yet?”
Think
about it. Sure, our age, our address, our gender and our past
medical history are important. But this information pales in
comparison to the answer to the most important question of all. And
that is the above mentioned question about your mind. That’s all
they really need to know about you, isn’t it?
If
your answer is “No,” then they know you are still alert,
vivacious, perky and full of wisdom. And then they have a legitimate
reason for placing you in the rear of the line, and making you wait.
If
your answer is “Yes,” then they know…well, they know you are
getting older, more feeble, and increasingly more forgetful. Then
they will feel sorry for you, be much more patient with you and bring
you to the front of the line. (Providing you don’t spray them with
saliva when you speak.) Also, they may forget to notice the food on
your beard, the gray hairs in your nostrils, and the fact that your
plaid pants and plaid flannel shirt do not match.
Who
could argue with this one-question application suggestion?
In
the near future, I envision an application to AARP, with only one
question under my name. And I dream of filling out an IRS return
that asks for your name, your income, and whether or not you have
lost your mind yet. Forget everything else, because it doesn’t
matter one iota.
Please
ponder for a second your application for a credit card – do you
think your past credit history is important? Not nearly as important
for those at VISA to learn if you have lost your mind. When you
think about it, the answer to that question speaks volumes about
one’s self. And the time and man-hours of work that would be
conserved would be phenomenal. (Not to mention the fact that it
would give those like me more time to clean up and get dressed before
they left the house.)
I
just may be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for making this great
suggestion, except for one concern. And that would be that I
couldn’t lie on my Peace Prize application. Obviously the
one-question would appear there, and I would have to admit that,
“Yes, I have indeed lost my mind.” No doubt, the prize would go
to someone else.
Sure,
I could fault the medications I take for my heart and other woes.
Or, I could place the blame on trying to teach middle school science
students for over 30 years. Raising three kids from birth through
college might be a factor. A clutter of useless information stored
in my memory banks might also be an excuse. Whatever the reason, the
result is undeniable – I have lost my mind.
As
you await part II of this story, please feel free to make a mental
note (if you still can) describing any situations you have
encountered where your mind got up, and left you. Feel free too, to
drop me a line (on the site below) and let me know how you handled
your unique lost-mind situation. I will do the same and report back
to you, the readers.
In
the meantime, my wife just reminded me to remove the breakfast egg
fragments from my unshaven face. Then I have to trim the hairs in my
nostrils. Thank goodness my flannel shirt, in which I slept, is
mostly gray. Loose, cut hairs shouldn’t show too badly.
Authors
Note: This story is not meant to demean or make light of the many
persons who suffer from a legitimate form of dementia. The real
purpose of this writing was to poke some fun at myself. As we all
know, Alzheimer’s and other forms of dementia are not a laughing
matter. And my heart goes out to those families dealing with a loved
one afflicted with these conditions.
