I seem to be unravelling.

I’ve had the same cold/flu/plague virus that everyone else has. Only I seem to have had it for weeks. Just when I think it is gone, it kickstarts itself all over again and feeling lousy I crawl back to my bed to sleep for days.

I am dreary company.

I cannot remember the name of things. Or what it was I was trying to explain. I can’t actually remember any examples of forgetting the name of things but that’s because I can’t remember. I’m stood there, blank-faced in the kitchen, shouting at my husband to stop being dim and work out what I’m looking for from the weird interpretive dance I’m performing.

I’ve lost my bank cards. And my driving licence. And the little card that ticks off my coffee points. It’s been over a month now. I know I should call the bank, only I’m fairly certain my bloody wallet is in the house – what with me being a plague carrier and not going out since before New Year. 

As soon as I call the bank the wallet will turn up – probably somewhere obvious like the freezer, or on the kitchen table. Somewhere I’ll have looked a thousand times but somehow failed to see.

I’ve checked everywhere. In bags, in the car, down the side of the sofa (only one sofa, not the other one!) I’ve checked in pockets – the most likely place I’d leave it. Having checked in all the pockets of the cardigans/coats I can think of/find, I am now checking pockets last worn in 1989 just in case by some mystical force my wallet turns up there.

I have lost all reason in my search.

They say you should try to imagine when you last used an item. I can see myself sitting on the sofa using my driving licence as ID for a form. Trouble is, while I clearly remember this, I’m not entirely sure that is the last time I used my wallet, because, well I can’t fucking remember anything.

What the hell is going on?

Bloody menopause strikes again!

Luckily, I had one bank card slipped into the cover of my mobile phone. I say had because it’s no longer there – I know I paid the rent (again sat on the sofa) but after that, I’ve no idea where it went. A herd of sheep could have snuck into the house and be off buying Gin and Curly Wurly’s with it, for all I know.

I only know it wasn’t sheep because the house is free of sheep shit but it could have been exceptionally continent sheep, who knows.

How does this happen? – the memory thing, not the sheep, though I might want to know more if they have found a cure for incontinence. (Asking for a friend!)

What were we talking about?

Oh yes, losing my marbles.

It’s driving me nuts.

I wake in the night imagining more and more improbable places that my bank cards might be. I’m rechecking places for the third and fourth time, on my hands and knees with the torch on my phone, squinting under sofas and behind bookshelves that have not moved since 2003. And if I don’t check these imagined places straight away then I won’t remember that I was going to check them and then I spend the whole day trying to remember what it was I was meant to do.

This is insanity. I don’t suppose you have seen them? What was I looking for? Answers on a – Oh, what do you call it, the paper thing, with the stamp and the …Oh, never mind.

I wonder if my wallet could have dropped down from a pocket into one of my shoes – sorry cant chat, need to pull out every pair of shoes I’ve worn since 2015 in case my bankcards are there.

I may be some time.