Thinking Outside the Box

I’m one of the few people you will meet that has been diagnosed with amnesia after a car accident. I walked away with injuries, but my memory was wiped away from me. I had no idea I was injured; so, I went home.

The only thing I knew was that I had children. I didn’t know how many, who they were, or where I lived.

I didn’t even know it was my car, or the man who was driving it. I figured that since I was in the car with him, he must know where I lived, and he could make sure I got home.

I may have 20% of my pre-accident memories. Maybe.

Among my memories that have returned: my grandmother went blind as she aged. I was a teenager at the time. What my grandmother had was hereditary.

I no longer know what she had. That part of the memory hasn’t returned yet. It may never return. Some of you may understand what I mean.

But as a teen, I began thinking that if my grandmother went blind, and it’s hereditary, I might go blind too.

I thought I better prepare.

So, I figured out a way to shower in the dark. I put my stuff in the shower and memorized where they were located. That part of the memory has returned. The part of the memory that has not returned is where the stuff was located. I don’t know.

You would think I would know.

Do you know why?

Because every day I would shower in the dark.

Every morning, in the dark, I would reach for the things I needed as I needed them. Like, I felt for the shampoo and having located it, used it to wash my hair.

I felt for it. I could find it every day in the dark. Now my memories are gone, and I don’t know where in the shower I used to keep my shampoo so I could wash my hair.

My mother came to the bathroom door one morning, thinking nobody was in there until she tried the doorknob.

“What are you doing in there?”

“I’m showering.”

“In the dark?”

“Yeah. I figured if grandma went blind, I could too, so I might as well practice.”

Guess my mother didn’t mind too much that the light bill went down a little, so she left me alone about it.

I rarely shower with the light on. Usually, it’s because someone else can’t see in the dark.

When I first married and my new husband found out I shower in the dark, he thought I was crazy. No, it’s called being prepared so you don’t have to help me as much as I age. Be thankful.

Do you think he could be thankful I was helping him out? No.

Instead, it set the precedence for the next few years. Any time I did something different than the norm, I was the crazy one, the delusional one, the one who broke up our marriage.

Back when I was going to school, we were taught to think outside the box. That’s why we have so many useful inventions today, like the computer and microwave.

What did thinking outside of the box cost me? A divorce.

Actually, several divorces.

I’ve been on the busy side lately. Busy answering phone calls or making phone calls. Busy writing or editing. Busy getting up to fill my water bottle once again. Stuff. Just stuff I have to do. Doing the laundry, going to the doctors. Stuff.

And the past few days have been a bit busier than normal, so other than hanging up the laundry that’s kept on hangers, the rest of the laundry has been sitting in a basket.

That is something that was taboo when I had a house full of people to take care of. The laundry was folded and put away fresh out of the dryer.

Today, I’m a little more lax on that chore, a little less hard on myself if I wake and still see the basket sitting on the chair I usually sit on to get dressed.

Taking up space.

Precious, necessary space.

Since the accident, I have not been able to dress standing up like I used to.

Getting dressed is a balancing act that just does not work for me anymore. I try to stand on one leg, mind you, I do this every time I take a step forward, but if I try to stand on one leg to put my pants on, down I go.

I was 36 years old at the time of the accident and here it is, 20 years later, and I’m still acting like an old man who needs a chair to get dressed.

It used to anger me – all the changes I had to make in my life after the accident. Now I’m like, “SAFTY FIRST!”

I won’t even go outside – at all – just to my car – if there is any snow on the ground or ice. But then again, I live in Arkansas. Just wait a day or a week or two. Sometimes it’s only a matter of hours, and it’s gone! It just disappears and acts like it was never there in the first place.

Yes, one of the things about living in Arkansas is that the weather will teach you to have patience. That or how to deal with loss. The loss of your house after a tornado. Just wait a few minutes and that will pass by too.

No, I’ve been living like an old person since I was 36. Now I’m 57 and I’m still not blind. Not going blind either. Yet here I am, still showering in the dark.

And this morning, upon waking, I saw that laundry basket sitting there on my chair.

Yes, the lights were off!

And I decided to fold the laundry. I figured it was about time.

Today is laundry day. The basket has been sitting there since last week and I need the basket to do another load.

So, without missing a beat, I put my pajama bottoms on. Yes, in the dark. After forty years of practice, I managed to get the tag on in the back.

Then I grabbed the laundry basket, put it on the bed, and proceeded to fold the laundry. In the dark. The sun wasn’t even rising yet.

And as I’m folding my laundry, the memory of my grandmother going blind and practicing taking a shower in the dark, returned.

And then I could hear one of my ex-husbands – not literally, I’m not schizophrenic, but imagined – I imagined I could hear one of my ex-husbands say to me, “so I suppose you’re practicing folding the laundry in the dark now?”

“Well, yes, how do you think you’ll be able to have your clothes put away if I go blind? You obviously haven’t folded them and put them away. They’ve been sitting here all week.”

“And you can see to fold your panties?”

“No, I feel around for the seams. I can tell which side is inside out. And my panties are shorter in the front than in the back. It’s easy to fold my panties in the dark.”

Like, Duh!

“And what about your socks? Why aren’t they matched?”

“For that, I need the light on to match them the same. I can’t see the differences between them in the dark.”

If you ever see anyone with mismatched socks on, don’t let them drive!

Do you know how many millennials there are walking around with mismatched socks on?

After this story, they’ll be going to the DMV to renew their license and the clerk will be like, “Uhm, I hate to tell you this, but I can’t give you your license. You’re blind. You need a doctor’s note to have it on record that you can actually see.”

And the millennials will be like, “Duh, you have an eye test machine right there.”

And you’ll be sitting in there waiting for your turn, listening to them, wondering which one is smarter.

By the way, my daughter is a millennial, and she openly admits she sometimes wears mismatched socks because they all look the same to her – with the light on!

And I let the blind millennial drive a car!

I’m going home to ask her for her keys.