forgetfulness praise

The day started with me pouring expensive Japanese sea salt into my coffee mug instead of a soft-boiled egg. Not recommended for simulation. With an indescribably terrible aftertaste, I was accompanied by the suspicion that the day that started like this would continue. With smaller and larger failures and forgetfulness. So it was. I’m not new. I’m a master of distraction.

But as I get older, I get used to it. I know from experience that arguing and scolding yourself is not very good. And that the world doesn’t usually collapse just because you forget something, lose something, jog or waste.

The gallery where we install Victor’s annual mega-altar was closed that day. So I was free. Editing is always an intensive process, we work for ten to twelve hours without a break, not knowing if the sun is shining outside or a tornado is approaching. We are dusty and exhausted, and all sorts of things hurt us and remind us that we are not young and not in good shape.

Consequently, that day I wanted to go to a yoga class, which I did, groaning and noahing to myself, but really proud of myself. After all, my stiff muscles and sore joints were hard work! In the wardrobe, I showed off my manual skills a little more, and when I went outside, the midday sun defeated the fog.

Maybe I’ll stop by a French bakery on the way home, I thought, groping for my car keys. And didn’t find it. I sat on the curb and dumped the entire contents of the bag. no key I repacked everything. And everything is off again. I then returned to the yoga studio, which had been closed in the meantime. I called my teacher, who was already on her way home. But she will come back later and search the closet. She didn’t say when “later” was, so I wandered aimlessly through the streets until suddenly I ran into Joy in the middle of an intersection. Joy lives in Oregon, I haven’t seen her in a long time. But she, apparently, had already returned to the city a long time ago to help a terminally ill friend, who later also died. Now she’s cleared his apartment, apparently a real Sisyphean task. “Why do you?” I asked. Then the light changed and she pulled me to the other side. “It’s a long story. Do you have time?”

I have had. I took her to a beautiful apartment, crammed to the ceiling with things, helped her clean up and sort it out, listened to her. At some point, the yoga teacher said again, “No key.” And then Joey needed a break. She took me home, where Victor was just warming up the tamales. She sat down at our table and sighed. “That’s exactly what I need today!”

Luckily the head didn’t grow.

What about the key? Later I found it in my pocket where it belonged. He only briefly hid so I could throw myself into Joy’s arms.