Seriously Scared

About an hour ago I couldn't remember the product of nine times nine. Worse, even after backing into it through arithmetic, the answer I got didn't feel "right." Eighty-one, the answer I arrived at, didn't give me any sense of relief or satisfaction, such as I usually get when I remember the name of the submarine on the TV show Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.

I don't have any more need for multiplication than most people, and I have plenty of calculators and websites that could either figure it out or display the results for me, so getting the answer wasn't the problem. The reason I was so scared is this is something I should know, inside out, whenever I need to.

I'm convinced my mind is going, is developing holes, and I see that as further evidence that I'm reaching the end.

If it took me a moment to recall the answer, or especially I reacted to the right answer with a sigh of relief, I wouldn't be feeling so bad. But when I eventually figured it out, or remembered it, the void that met that answer disturbed me. The answer should have filled me with glee and joy, and it felt, instead, like foreign territory.

I'm struggling with remembering words, too, which doesn't bode well for my attempts to actually finish some writing again. I'm scared because I know there isn't simple solution, there isn't any magic pill I can take to get my mind back, and I'm afraid that it's going to grow worse and worse.

I can't expect, and probably won't seek, any medical help, because I'd feel foolish. Whatever is causing this is no doubt a result of my past, and I should have known better all along. I don't want to burden anyone, and I won't be happy watching myself deteriorate.

Maybe it was just a blip, a "one off," and it's silly for me to be concerned at all. Maybe that's it.