I’m sure there are things I’m supposed to be doing, but for the life of me, I can’t recall what they might be.
I know that when I wake up at 3:30 in the morning, all sorts of responsibilities descend upon me; that there’s nothing I can do about any of them makes it all the more likely I’ll be beset by them; however, ten hours later, when I’m in a position to make phone calls, run errands, and take care of things I could be taking care of, I can’t come up with anything pressing.
Sure, there’s probably some dry-cleaning to be dropped off, and, in all likelihood, something on one of my bikes needs to be fixed, but other than that, I’m stumped. Whatever it was that seemed so important in the wee hours can’t even rise to the level of my conscious awareness at the moment.
Maybe it was something I’m supposed to buy or perhaps there’s an appointment I need to be making. It could be I need to write a letter to someone or potentially, I should be doing some cleaning; that I can’t bring to mind any specifics seems odd— given that there was an endless number of such activities running through my brain as I tossed and turned under the covers.
Certainly, there’s some fact I’ve forgotten to look up on the Internet; no doubt I needed to know who won the Academy Award for Sound Design in 1956 or something like that, but at them moment, I’m simply not bedeviled with the need to know any such thing.
Maybe I’m forgetting that I’d planned to write to an old friend or that I needed to schedule a dentist appointment. Could it have something to do with the car? Or my bank account? Or home maintenance of some sort?
If it really were all that important, surely it would come to mind, right? So why worry? Just forget about it.
I know that when I wake up at 3:30 in the morning, all sorts of responsibilities descend upon me; that there’s nothing I can do about any of them makes it all the more likely I’ll be beset by them; however, ten hours later, when I’m in a position to make phone calls, run errands, and take care of things I could be taking care of, I can’t come up with anything pressing.
Sure, there’s probably some dry-cleaning to be dropped off, and, in all likelihood, something on one of my bikes needs to be fixed, but other than that, I’m stumped. Whatever it was that seemed so important in the wee hours can’t even rise to the level of my conscious awareness at the moment.
Maybe it was something I’m supposed to buy or perhaps there’s an appointment I need to be making. It could be I need to write a letter to someone or potentially, I should be doing some cleaning; that I can’t bring to mind any specifics seems odd— given that there was an endless number of such activities running through my brain as I tossed and turned under the covers.
Certainly, there’s some fact I’ve forgotten to look up on the Internet; no doubt I needed to know who won the Academy Award for Sound Design in 1956 or something like that, but at them moment, I’m simply not bedeviled with the need to know any such thing.
Maybe I’m forgetting that I’d planned to write to an old friend or that I needed to schedule a dentist appointment. Could it have something to do with the car? Or my bank account? Or home maintenance of some sort?
If it really were all that important, surely it would come to mind, right? So why worry? Just forget about it.
