I want my mind back ...

Last week I called my optometrist’s office, completely embarrassed, because I’d just forgotten my second (rescheduled) appointment with him. (I had also forgotten the first one.) To my utter chagrin, the doctor himself answered the phone and so I had to completely eat dirt. “Hi, Dr. Johnson, it’s Amy Koons and I’m really sorry that I stood you up … again … this afternoon,” I told him.

I didn’t even try to make excuses because, frankly, there were no good excuses.

Fortunately he was gracious and, thus far, his office hasn’t even charged me the no-show fee, though I deserve it.

So yesterday I went in, finally, to see my eye doctor. I was determined that I would overcome any calamity or Act of God to make that appointment. I told myself that the only reason I wouldn’t show up at that doctor’s office was if I was lying in a morgue someplace. I asked Kevin, in advance, to please call me and remind me. I also set up an e-mail alert and wrote myself five sticky notes in various strategic places so I would remember.

You know, I’m really tired of feeling so spacey and discombobulated. I’m not normally this extremely out-of-it. Another episode of pregnancy scatterbrains? Despite the guffaws of the naysayers out there, I would sincerely contend that it was.

In my typical state of mind, I’m enough of a threat to the world. Lately, I’ve just been plain scary. I long for normalcy again. I want my mind back!