I am the opposite of a machine. I have no memory.

Ok, yes, that’s a bit dramatic, but lately that’s exactly how I feel. Very recently, I wrote two short stories. I haven’t made them public, and I was just thinking of what I’d write next. Perhaps another poem, work on my “Mis Tías” piece, or dive back into my novel? What I couldn’t immediately remember was the topic of my two stories. I wrote them not two weeks ago. If I sit here and concentrate, really concentrate, I’ll remember.

Such is life nowadays. There are things I could never forget, and then there are things, so many things, that lately seem to be instantly erased from my memory. If I’m not reminded or don’t focus intently, it’s as if they never happened.

It is scary.

One consolation I have is that I know I am not alone. I am in perimenopause, and thankfully, I am in good company. My older sister, my girlfriends, and even a few of my aunts are going through some phase of menopause. And all are experiencing or have experienced some type of memory loss.

Aside from the varying physical conditions we are experiencing, memory loss is the scariest. At least to me. I’m not exactly sure when things will improve, but I am hopeful. 

During these times, I am grateful for the many women I have in my life. The ones I can be completely forgetful with and air out my grievances. I know they understand me completely. Even if we don’t understand ourselves sometimes.