Memory, All Alone...

My biggest dilemma this morning has been deciding whether I'm going to work.

I was at a meeting last Tuesday - the 20th, quel surprise - and the group was reviewing a document I'm semi-responsible for.

Much alarm. "This document doesn't have the changes from the 17th's meeting in here! This meeting is pointless!"

I don't have balls to shrink up, but I think my ovaries receded further into my abdomen.

Because I don't remember the meeting from the 17th. I'm sure I was there, I just don't remember it. I can't find my notes. The Worried Man is the middle man on this project and I could see him getting paler and paler. When the meeting was over, he wandered away and wouldn't look at me.

Shit! As we used to say in high school, shitfuckhelldamn.

There's another of these meetings at ten this morning. And where was The Worried Man yesterday? On vacation. Not available for consultation.

(And as an aside, I beg any Indian woman working in America - please speak the hell up. When I talk to you one on one, I can hear you. But get an Indian man in the meeting and I have to crank up my hearing aid (wish I had one) to 11. Speak up. You've been here for an average of five years. Yesterday, I was the only non-Indian in a meeting and I have no idea what was said. The Indian guys mutter and look at their Crackberries. The Indian women speak in a range audible only to birds.)

I miss my memory. I know it used to be excellent. And now I think I'm going to have to start writing down every single thing I manage to hear.

In the meantime, I have to gird my loins for the silent lambasting I am sure to get at today's ten o'clock meeting.