My Memory Is a Menace to Society (Again)

My Memory Is a Menace to Society (Again)

I need y’all to understand something right now:

my memory is not forgetful.

My memory is criminally negligent.

This is not cute “oops I forgot my keys” behavior.

This is “ma’am, how did you lose a blunt inside your own home?” behavior.

Let me tell you what happened.

Two days ago, I rolled a blunt.

A beautiful blunt.

A mind-your-business-and-sit-down blunt.

I remember rolling it. I remember licking it. I remember admiring it like, yeah… that’s craftsmanship.

Then my phone rang.

It was my niece.

Now, if you know anything about FaceTiming your niece, you know that means:

immediate distraction

unnecessary storytelling

laughing for no reason

absolutely no adult tasks getting completed

So I put the blunt down.

Somewhere.

I don’t know where.

I get off FaceTime maybe 30–40 minutes later and think, cool, let me spark this blunt.

Gone.

Vanished.

This blunt said, I don’t live here anymore.

I start looking casually at first. Coffee table. Counter. Couch.

Nothing.

Now I’m annoyed.

I start retracing my steps like I’m in a low-budget crime documentary.

Okay… I rolled it here… phone rang… I walked… somewhere…

Now I’m tearing my apartment up.

Cushions lifted. Blankets shaken. Weed tray searched like it owes me money.

I am checking places that make no sense.

Bathroom?

Why would a blunt be in the bathroom?

Kitchen cabinets?

Who am I?

At this point, I’m accusing the universe.

I’m like, ain’t no way this blunt just escaped.

Tell me why…

TELL ME WHY…

I found the blunt behind my TV.

Behind.

My.

TV.

How did it get there?

Who put it there?

Because it wasn’t me…

except it absolutely was.

That’s when I realized:

my memory cannot be trusted as a witness.

Now let’s talk about the glasses.

I wear glasses.

Correction — I own glasses.

I have so many pairs of glasses it looks like I’m running an underground optical shop.

But for some reason — and I don’t understand this either — I refuse to wear them consistently inside my own house.

I’ll take them off like, I know this place.

No.

No, I do not.

I will set a pair of glasses down and they will enter a witness protection program.

Two weeks ago, I lost a pair of glasses.

Just… gone.

I moved on, because what else am I supposed to do? I put on another pair and continued living my life like this was normal.

Tell me why today — TODAY — I found those glasses inside my weed tray.

A weed tray.

Why were my glasses anywhere near rolling supplies?

Were they trying to help?

Were they supervising?

I don’t know.

What I do know is this:

I will lose a pair of glasses while wearing another pair of glasses while looking for the first pair of glasses I forgot I already replaced.

That sentence made sense to me.

That’s how bad it is.

This is what ADHD, aging eyes, and weed look like when they unionize against you.

I roll a blunt and forget it exists.

I lose my vision aids in drug paraphernalia.

I get distracted mid-thought and never come back.

My memory is not a filing cabinet.

It’s a junk drawer.

And every day I wake up like, what did we lose today?

Honestly, it’s a miracle I haven’t put my phone in the refrigerator yet.

If you see me wandering my apartment squinting, talking to myself, and accusing furniture — mind your business.

I’m not lost.

My stuff is.