Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: passport

Memory is a made-up concept (part two)

I was talking yesterday about how bad my memory has become since my medical crisis. And how relieved I was that I had actually been right about my passport being au courant. I am mad at myself, though, that I did not get the Real ID when I had to renew my driver’s license last (that was April 2024) because now I have to make a separate trip to do it.

My passport can stand in for the Real ID, but it’s not something I would want to take on a domestic flight. I would worry about it all the time and not be able to truly relax. I don’t want to go to the DMV, though, because I had to wait two hours to get my license renewed the last time I went.

I said in the last post that losing my good memory was a small price to pay for being alive. I also said I was frustrated and mad at myself for not being able to remember where my passport was. Both of these things are true, even though they seem contradictory. There is very little that isn’t worth giving up in exchange for life, is there? But, sometimes, I do remember how good my memory was before my medical crisis–and it was really fucking good.

I have adapted to my memory being shit now (and, frankly, it can be useful to trot out as an excuse when I forget something), but I have to admit it’s in a jagged way. I make notes in my calendar (on my phone) when I need to do something, but I still rely too much on my worn-out memory because I think I *should* be remember everything.

On Friday past, Rory and Gav of RKG were doing the third producer’s stream (the tier on Patreon I’m subscribed to) of Split Fiction (Hazelight Studios) at 11 a.m. my time. I knew about it, and I had it in my brain all week long that I wanted to watch the stream. I will say that my sleep has been exceptionally bad this week, and I have been struggling to get enough sleep and to get to bed before five in the morning.

I got up at noon and went about my ‘morning’ routine–2 hours of Taiji/Bagua. When I got to my computer and checked in with the Discord, it was right around 3 p.m. And I noticed there were new messages in tthe producer livestream channel. Scrolling through it, I quickly realized I had just missed the Rory/Gav stream.

I was mad. I had mentally made a note and kept it in my mind for a whole week. And then, just like that, it flew right out of my mind right before it actually happened. It was as if it had never been there, too. I didn’t have any uneasy feeling Friday morning that I was missing something; indeed, I was oblivious to the fact that it was the day for the stream.

I think that’s the thing that bothers me the most. It’s not that my memory is spotty. It’s not that I used to have a good memory. It’s that things can go clean out of my head at the slight (or no) provocation as if they were never there in the first part.


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My memory is Swiss cheese (with reason)

I have been trying to find my passport because–well, reasons. I had a dim memory of it being in my underwear drawer and thoroughly dug through it. It was not there. Then, I thought, maybe I put it in a different drawer? I checked all of them. Not there. Hm. Maybe my desk? I had a hazy memory of putting it in my desk drawer, ‘hidden’ in something. Nope. Not there, either. I checked all the drawers several times.

I thought about it for the next few days, and then it hit me. It was probably downstairs in the safe! I went downstairs, but the safe was not where it usually was. I was so puzzled until I remembered that my brother and I had put it in one of the many boxes on the floor (mostly filled with books). I opened all the boxes, rummaging through them. I could not find the safe. I went through all of them again, and I still could not find the safe.

I called my brother to ask him if he remembered putting the safe into one of the boxes. He said yes. He said we did not bury it in anything, either. I went back down to look yet again, but I could not find it.

I was so frustrated and mad as hell. Mostly at myself! I know that my memory is shit since my medical crisis. I’m not mad at losing my memory because it’s a trade-off I’m willing to make for regaining my life. Easy choice, right?

I compensate by writing shit down if I need to do something or be somewhere at some point in time. However, I have not trained my brain yet that I also need to write down shit like this. Though, to be fair to me, I hid my passport before the medical crisis.

I did know that I had a valid passport in 2018 when I went to Malta. I vaguely remembered that it was new, but I wasn’t sure about that. I hadn’t used it for several years before that, and it’s not something I have to think about in my day-to-day.

I was frustrated, but I didn’t think anything would be helped by me going through the boxes for a fourth time.

My brother was in the neighborhood tonight (kind of ), so he stopped by. I haven’t seen him in a hot sec because he’s been busy, busy, busy–which is his standard MO. We got to talking aabout my passport and my frustrations with not being able to find it. My brother being who he is said immediately, “Want to go look for it?”


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