I now have and EXCUSE for being terrible with dates!!! :smug: Upside to a TBI that f*cked up my numbers/numerical recall.
But it’s just an excuse. I’ve been terrible with dates since the 90s.
Before I enlisted I was a typical girl about dates. I knew them all (mine, other people’s, holidays, etc.)...and they meant something, After I enlisted the only date I ever remembered was 10Nov1775. I don’t know if that was a gradual thing, or overnight, I didn’t notice it for several years. But when you have a hard time remembering when Christmas is? Several years in a row? And even when it’s tomorrow, or next thursday, or whatever? Even when you’ve spent the past month decorating and buying presents? It gets a bit too obvious not to miss.
Even my son’s birthday? Who is the single most important person in my life, and that I’ve always gone to huge lengths for his birthday? I spend about 2 months freaking out about it. Seriously. Like shaking, puking, wanting to eat my gun, quitting jobs, ... frantically checking the calendar 2 or 3 times a day, just to make sure I haven’t missed it. <<< And this was BEFORE my TBI. Just from the stress of being afraid of forgetting/missing it.
Dates just don’t mean anything to me. They don’t feel real. Like if I’m asking you to lunch on the second Tuesday in May, 6,000 years from now. That’s not real, right? Because we’ll both be dead. (Well, unless the immortality thing has the decency to kick in, before I’m too old to enjoy it.) So imagine we make that appointment. Now imagine you go into work tomorrow and it’s -somehow???- the second Wednesday in May, 8020. How could you miss something that wasn’t real? And then you get a phone call from me sobbing about how you totally f*cked me over, and don’t love me or respect me, and how hurt and angry I am at you, and how I waited and waited, and CLEARLY, since our friendship means nothing to you? I’m done. Goodbye. Now? Imagine that happens several times a year. Shrug. That’s my life. Before the TBI. I make dates, and set appointments, and stress myself out to the point of wanting to kill myself attempting to remember them... and I still miss them. Because 6,ooo years from now (also known as tomorrow, or possibly last week) just isn’t “real”.