I Forget... What Was I Going to Say?

My grandma has an alarm system. When she returns from a shopping trip or church, she has just two minutes to get from the back of the house to her bedroom to turn off the alarm. The alarm is loud, but not to her 90-year old ears, so she's often forgotten to turn it off and received a call from the company making sure everything's alright. Finally she decided to put a note just inside her door, "Turn off alarm."

I'm not quite at the point where I wouldn't notice loud beeping, but I put up my first Post-It note yesterday where I'll be sure to see just before leaving the condo:

I don't know if you'll be able to read the yellow note, but it says, "Remember cell phone and purse!!!"

Wednesday, I left my purse at work. Thankfully it was there the next morning, my $22 cash and credit card with a laughably low limit in tact. But my relief at finding it was tempered by the realization that I'd left my phone at home, the second time I did that last week. When I'm at work, this isn't a big deal--I don't get personal calls during the day, and I'm still able to check email. I can be reached at the library in an emergency. But I'm in the car for over an hour each day. If there's a problem (my timing belt hasn't sounded too good in a while), I'd like to be able to call a tow truck or Triple-A.

I don't just leave stuff at work or home. I'm forgetful in other ways. In fact, yesterday, I got distracted mid-scrub and left a bowl in the sink and the dishwasher open. Seriously.

I get lost in my thoughts, sometimes. I'm thinking about what changes I want to make in my story, or what projects I'll tackle at work, or the debt crisis in Greece. I'd like to be more conscientious, of course, but part of me is depressed by the idea of filling my mind with boring minutiae.