On Intellectual Intercourse

I need some Viagra for my mind.  I can’t seem to keep up.
Desire is not enough.

The pace of change seems to be accelerating just as my mind is cruising to a stop—blocked mental arteries.  I never seem to know what’s going on or who’s who.  Worse, I can’t seem to unpack the cluttered trunk that is my mind.  Where is all that stuff I used to know?  It doesn’t bode well for any hopes of thrilling intellectual intercourse.

Often, things go downhill during the foreplay.  For example, I sit down to watch a movie that I’ve selected.  The intro plays and I say, “That character looks familiar.”

“Uh, we’ve seen this movie before,” says my film partner who is already losing interest.

This leads me to more efforts at less-than-stimulating conversation.  I say, “Remember that other movie, the one with…oh…what’s her name? The one with the blonde hair?  She was popular at the same time as that other actress with the blonde hair?” My partner feigns a headache and goes home.

That doesn’t stop me from trying on my own.  While I can’t think of the name of either formerly popular movie actress, I can picture both of them in my mind’s eye, and I can’t let it go.  I keep trying, but my thoughts circle around the debris field that is my aging mind like water swirling around in a backed up toilet bowl.  It just won’t come.  My mind continues to work on it even in my sleep.  Their names, even some of their movie titles settle thick on the on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t spit it out, and I can’t seem to concentrate on anything else.  A day later, when I am least expecting it, Reese Witherspoon and Cameron Diaz come to mind.  Triumphant and ecstatic from the pleasure of recall, I shout out their names while I am pumping gas.  

I am not alone in this.  Sometimes it happens during group intercourse.  For example, we might be sitting around the table at our monthly book club meeting discussing books or current events when someone else tries to recall a name or event.  We all dive in deep shouting out the possibilities.  We each acknowledge, “I know what you mean.”  It becomes a game of mental charades.  The conversation could just go on since we all really do know what she means, but, darn, we are on the edge of climax.  We will keep going until we find that word and then gasp and giggle in delighted relief.

These minor memory lapses seem to happen more often with each passing month--things, names, events, some so personal I really should be able to retrieve them quickly   What was that old co-worker’s name?  I worked with her for 10 years when I was in my thirties…

And then there are the ordinary everyday words. I seem to remember butter, but I can’t seem to grab a hold of cream cheese until, for some unknown reason while I am laying on the butter, my mind unexpectedly cries out the name of that other delicious spread, “Philadelphia!”

More and more, my most in-depth conversations seem to be with myself.  Am I losing it?  I don’t know, but somehow I remember to ask myself that question many times a day.  It fills up the moments it takes me to remember why I just walked into the kitchen.

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