Whew. After fearing for days that I was indeed succumbing to the falling leaves within my mind swirling piles of scattered memories, I can now bag those piles of rubbish thoughts and move on with my life. You see, last weekend we went out to eat and when Pete realized he had forgotten his wallet, he asked me for my debit card. I was in the middle of a serious conversation with my mother when he said, "What's your password?"
All of the sudden my mind became as blank as a winter tree. My password? I thought about it for a minute and tried to recall the pattern I so effortlessly typed into keypads too many times a day; but I could not remember those five digits.
I covered up the blank I drew. "Uh, can't you see I'm in the middle of something? Can you just charge it?"
The fear of rejection kept my debit card pocketed for the next day. If I punched in the wrong ID number, I might get accused of stealing my own card! I over-thought about what the PIN could be with no luck whatsoever, while at the same time scheming like an identity thief; if I try it there, they'll confiscate my card and handcuff me, but if I try it here I might be able to get away with it.
I tried to use it when I filled up with gas, but it was incorrect. What was I going to do? Go into the bank and tell them I'm losing my mind?
Yesterday I'd had enough. I psyched myself up and when the time came to give my debit card a try, I swiped it, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I then let my fingers do the typing. Guess what? I got it right!
Sometimes I think my fingers know more than I do. After all, they are the ones who take off writing and leave me running behind falling face first in the crunchy leaves.