So, our family is planning a trip to Europe. Somewhere along the way, while looking for a place to stay, I got my euros and dollars mixed up. I found myself putting in a reservation request for an apartment for WAY more than our budget. On top of that, I booked our flights for a 3 week period instead of one because I reversed the dates. My husband finds these things infuriating. He’s lucky. I find them infuriating, confounding, humiliating and irritating. And worst of all, I just feel…old.
Experts say this “brain fog” is part of both perimenopause and menopause. It seems that my hormones are conspiring against me in some kind of sadistic dance that affects my cognition. Dammit! As I am now 46, I can feel menopause banging on my front door. She sounds shrill, angry and slightly insane. She sounds like one rip-roaring bitch. I don’t want to let her in, but man is she persistent.
While the research says that this brain fog is “normal,” it sure feels anything but. Now I was never Einstein or anything but I graduated magna cum laude! Give me a break with the fucking “fog.” As many of my comrades will tell you, getting up in the morning can be a marathon event, saturated with fatigue and punctuated with other people needing things from you that you cannot bring to the surface of your otherwise underwater brain.
Sometimes I feel sorry for my brain. It has a lot to remember! Having become the eyes and ears of this institution I call “my family,” it holds reams of data that it’s having a hard time coaxing outward. When is her dentist appointment? How long since we treated the dog for fleas? Are we out of milk? Is it too late to get the flu shot? My brain is walking a very fine line here, speaking very least of the extreme bouts of emotion which also may accompany “the fog.”
Sometimes I imagine my brain in it’s confused, mixed up and overwhelmed state. It appears shrivelly and gray. It looks like it, if touched, would be the roughness of sandpaper. And then, taking a deep breath, I recall all that I manage. All that I complete, and all that I am. That icky wrinkly brain begins to look smoother, plump and pink and glistening with renewed vigor.
And then, I decide, it’s time to go to bed.