Memory for shit

     One of the most insidious side effects of cancer therapy is "chemo brain." It may mean different things to different people. To me, it means:

• Scattered attention
  
• Inability to recall short- or long-term experiences, including (mercifully, perhaps) details of past therapies, names of drugs, treatment regimens, surgeries
• Inability to remember (unmercifully) whether I liked what I ate for breakfast yesterday enough to order it again, where I read that really interesting article about caregiver fatigue, who was on John Stewart last night, and what I've done with my car keys
• Failure to recall what I'm writing

     That last is a real pickle. Just try drafting a novel when, each morning, you have to reintroduce your characters to yourself. Fucking hell.

     I blame it on chemo, but maybe my brain is atrophying early. Maybe I have early onset dementia. I'm only 46; maybe I just don't pay attention.

     Or maybe it's my psyche's clumsy effort at sifting too many mindbending stimuli. Like the idea that I'm mortal. That I can't vanquish the disease by force of will. That there are things beyond my control. That the therapies, for all their apparent sophistication, are really just barbarous shots in the dark. Let's cut it out. No? Let's put some poison on it. Oops. Looks like that was maybe a little too much.

     Feh.

     I have class tonight. I'll have to bring every thought I've ever had about this novel, in writing, so I can explain what I'm doing with this book. So I can remember. So I can live.