I panic.

I panic quite often actually.

This morning I drew two clock faces, assigning myself random times to make them read: 4:45. 11:10. A couple days ago I got back into counting backwards from 100 by 7s. Gabe could do it quite well, but in his case I have no concerns about deterioration. Fortunately I am still quite apt. At that trick, anyway.

I’ve been watching The Alzheimer’s Project, a series of HBO documentaries, which are, luckily, available to stream from HBO.com since I do not subscribe to an HBO-containing level of cable service. So, as the film depicts various people jumping through those very familiar cognitive testing hoops, I cannot help playing along. For reassurance. Yes! I say. I remember how it goes: Anna Thompson is a school cook who was robbed of $56 on State Street. Right? And yes, I’m right. Furthermore, those three words were table, penny, and apple. But still I panic. Because sometimes my brain won’t give me the name of the neighbor 3 doors down whom I never see...at least not right off the bat. First name: Jan. Last name:___________. I’m going to look it up if it doesn’t come before I get to the end of this entry. And that will make me mad.

Hendra. Thanks brain. It might really be perimenopausal fog-brain that is making me all ocd about cognitive reassurance measures. This is one reason I will keep studying Japanese. Present me with a page that looks like this: ねこはうるさいですね。My first impulse is to panic. My brain protests: What are you, nuts? it thinks, or something very close to that. But, if I relax and look at it, I can, calmly, decipher that into: neko wa urusai desu ne? and then the next step: The cat is noisy, isn’t it?

But my state of mind re minds nowadays, is to recognize them as fragile, maybe ephemeral, things. I will be much indebted to mine if it hangs around as long as I need it.