Remembering, forgetting.

Still running on very tired, though I got even more rest today.
My once-a week-cleaner and my gardener both came, so several of my permitted "fives" went while they were here, just in conversation.

It's a good job I don't have too many friends or contacts: I'd never be able to cope with them.  I've had to drop internet contacts and groups I enjoyed as it is.

Just coping with day-to-day looms much larger, especially if fatigue eats into concentration.  It's the semi-automatic things that seem most easily affected: the sequence for making breakfast or a pot of tea, for example.

Typing is a good warning sign of fatigue fog creeping in: the typos go up, quite markedly, but I have a particular quirk of starting to hit the space bar one letter too soo nleaving the last lette rof the word attached to the front of th enext.
A definite sign to stop, indeed that I should have stopped a while earlier.

Another notable forgetting: my medication, this morning.  That doesn't happen often, but it happens.  More serious than putting shaving cream on the toothbrush, but of similar origin: familiar routines cannot be reliably left on "automatic pilot" any more.  Which means paying more attention, which is, once again, demanding.  And a pain.
And gets forgotten too, from time to time, until the next "absent-minded" incident.

Remembering?  Well there's trying to remember when to be alert, and trying to remember to set the alarm which helps me remember when my time for activity is up.  Maybe I need an alarm to remind me to do that.
(Shades of Professor Branestawm, who had a pair of glasses to look for all his other pairs, (if anyone remembers him!))

That's part of remembering my current limitations, without getting obsessed or depressed by such.
Especially when presented with reminders of other days.
I remember when I could...
But let's not go there too much, unless it can be done as pleasant memories, rather than as sharp contrasts with the here and now.

Up Snowdon in the morning (and down), and five-a-side football on the beach in the afternoon?   That must have been a different person.
In some ways it was, and in some ways it wasn't.
I must give that some thought, and *that* hasn't changed a fraction.
Except through sheer practice and experience.