Burned Carrots

I have a good memory. A freakishly good memory. Not good enough to ace my SATs in high school or anything. But good enough to pull out my 3rd grade class photo and be able to recall the first and last name of over half the class. I remember people I went to high school with who have no clue or recollection of who I am. I think I've even scared a few when I approached them and asked if they were so and so from the class of 1997. 

Yet despite this trove of archives in my brain, I seem to forget daily or weekly tasks quite readily.  Just last week I was having discussion with my husband. Dinner was almost done dooking when he asked me what that burning smell was. I gasped and ran to the stove. And there sat a pot of burned carrots. They were charred and black and stuck to the bottom of the pan.  I was so frustrated! I was already having a rough day and I couldn't even boil pot of sliced carrots without burning them!

 Where did this great memory on mine go?  Why is it I can sing and recall a song about Eating Right that I learned in the 3rd grade and but can't remember a pot of carrots on the burner? I'd much rather never remember that song again - and salvage my dinner without incident. In fact, not only can I sing the song, I remember the tune that Mr. Rosenson (or maybe he was Mr. Rosenberg?)  played on his mini Casio keyboard. I remember the color of his mustache as we sat in the auditorium with song sheets to the words. I remember ridiculous amounts of details that (appear) to be completely useless now. But I forget to call that friend I promised to get back to during mid week texts we shot back and forth. 


Sometimes I wish my brain was equipped with a delete button. I could open up the files drawers filled with old, outdated, and impractical information... and make space for more pressing matters; matters that involve today and the here and now.

But I don't have a selective memory edition to my psyche. Just the burden of remembering all the theme songs to my favorite TV shows growing up and countless 80s commercials and forgetting to turn on the oven when baking a cake. This folks is the curse of my good memory. This is the misfortune I have come across in my mid thirties.

So if you are wondering why I never called you back. Why I never answered that email or text. Why I promised to scan and email you some info and you still haven't seen it. It's because I plumb ole forgot. It was gone before I had a chance to find space for it in my noggin. And its stinks my friend. It stinks more than a pot of burned carrots.

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