WARNING: You or someone you love may be afflicted with CRS and be unaware of it! Follow this text to learn the facts and take a quick and easy quiz to determine your status. Today I shall examine the mental aliment CRS (Can’t Remember Shit; as in I can’t remember something and I don’t remember what it is, dammit, what the hell was it now, oh yeah, shit). For those of you who can’t remember whether or not you suffer from this particular aliment, have no fear, for I have prepared a quick and easy one question quiz to help you determine such. 1). What (without looking) do the letters CRS stand for? As simple a concept such as CRS (see above) seems, it is a tree with many branches, which I will take a selective overall peek at. While some cases of it are truly age or brain injury related, many more are not, or at least didn’t start out that way. Some memory loss is the fault of learned behavior; this is known as selective memory, which usually begins in childhood, e.g. how little Billy can’t remember to clean his bedroom after having been told five hundred times to do so, but can remember that he wanted to play video games all day in the middle of it. In people older than a teenager selective memory often takes on the form of them being able to remember when products were cheaper and better made and the state of things were somehow both far better and far worse, but not being able to remember what they just did or saw or heard or said or read or to stop by the store on their way home from work to pick up whatever totally necessary items that their wife told them to that she forgot to remember to buy when she was just there the day before and the day before that, etc.. When Jack Benny refused to remember that he had aged beyond 39 years he was probably practicing selective memory, but who knows. Maybe he wasn’t just trying to be humorous or vein but actually couldn’t remember his real age. As for myself; I’m 39 and caught in the in-between, too old to be young, but too young to be old. Some elderly folks fake senility to get out of being bothered by “loved ones” and it ends up backfiring on them and they get sent down the road to Happy Farms Retirement Castle to try and forget the rest of their lives. Testing one, two. Testing one, two. Oh, hi, I forgot that I was writing a blog post for a minute and thought that I was baking a cake. Luckily my computer suffered no damage from being in the oven, as I forgot to turn that on. Anyway, where was I? Some memory loss is random and only temporary (until it’s not), such as not being able to remember the vital information burned into your mind when pressed upon it. “My name and address and telephone number, oh shit, I swear that I knew that information when I left home this morning! Can I phone a friend, if I can remember their phone number?” Isn’t it fun when you walk towards a room with a specific purpose in mind and you can’t remember what that purpose is when you get in there? Or when you get on the road and you can’t remember where you’re going to? The latter (both really, but more so the latter) is a good way to tell that your mental transmission is slipping. Yep, today you forget where you’re going and tomorrow (assuming that the forgetting of your destination wasn’t an exercise in selective memory, e.g. “I forgot that I was supposed to go to work today”) your automobile is in a ditch and its radio only plays static. Dealing with people who have chronic memory loss can be really trying; such as the way that they might look at someone who has a case of CRS bad enough to rival their own and tell you to take them into the woods and shoot them if they ever get to be like that, but then have the nerve to get all bent out of shape when you show up at their house with a gun and ask them if they would like to go out for a nice nature walk. Sometimes this is just as well, as you either forgot to buy or forgot what you did with the bullets for the gun (and you don’t know which it is) anyhow. While I think of it, I’m going to take this opportunity to slap you in the face as though with a cold dead slimy fish with the equally attractive offer to check out my blog where a new humorous, if I say so, post magically appears in time for every Sunday morning. Coming this Sunday the hills have fang in a Halloween tale of a hillbilly vampire that I call WHITE HOT WHITE DOG FEVER OF THE DAMMED, Y’ALL. Bookmark it now! While there be sure to check into my 99 cent five star psychological horror novel, WHAT’S IN A NAME?, which has been dubbed by one critic as fifty shades of red in a rubber room. Go ahead, take the click: kitkingdomwhatsinaname if you dare. And if you actually like what you read of either my blog (including this post) or my book or both (if you’re one of those questionable types), please remember to forward my link to anyone else you know who might feel the same way. – The preceding message has been a shameless self-promotion brought to you by Kit Kingdom. That’s K-I-T K-, well, you get the idea. Thanx much!
Posted on: Thu, 23 Oct 2014 00:02:53 +0000
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