As previously reported, I bought tickets to a number of shows back last April through June, back before the delta variant spike when covid numbers were low. I wound up not going to those shows because of the increased number of delta cases, and because it made sense to me not to take unnecessary risks at my vulnerable age. But last night, for the first time since the pandemic broke, I went to an indoor gathering at a neighbor's house (even though this is Georgia, it was too cool and rainy for the gathering to be outside). About 20 of us spent about two hours, unmasked, in a cozy, comfortable living room, with a low fire in the hearth and beer and wine served by our gracious hosts. That's the "riskiest" behavior I've participated in since the Mattiel concert at The Earl back in February 2020.
Covid numbers are down again now - not as low as they were last summer, but nearing an average of 1,000 new cases per day, well below the Labor Day peak of almost 10,000 cases per day. Arguably, it's now relatively "safe" to get together with neighbors again, just as it's probably relatively "safe" to go to a show at The Earl again. Like the Nation of Language show at The Earl tonight. The one I had tickets to. The one I didn't attend.
Excuse the double negatives, but I didn't not go because of the covids. I didn't go because I just plain forgot. I forgot the show was tonight until almost 11:00 pm, when it didn't make sense anymore to try to run down and catch them.
Did I forget because I'm so aged and senile or because I'm so out of sync with the live music world that it didn't even occur to me to track the show date? Or is that two different ways of saying the same thing? After two years of pandemic isolation, has my mind turned to such lemon jello that I don't even know when shows are anymore, even though I track them right over there to the right?
Here's more evidence of my mental decline - tonight, after feeding the cats at 7:00 p.m., oblivious to "doors open" time at The Earl, and after scooping out their litter box, I was heading out the door to throw out a trash bag full of feline feces when I saw an Amazon package on my doorstep. Not expecting a delivery, I thought, "Oh, no! The driver dropped a package at the wrong doorstep." I checked to see who the package was for, ready to trot over to some neighbor's house to leave the package at its rightful location, but saw that it was addressed to me.
That's odd. I didn't recall ordering anything from Amazon. Did I order something over my phone one night while drunk? That has happened before but I've always remembered placing the order, even if it was something I wouldn't have ordered if the time of night and my blood alcohol level weren't the same number.
I brought the package in and opened it and there they were - the free covid home test kits I ordered from the Fulton County Board of Health. I remember placing the order last Monday - it was over morning coffee and I was wide awake and lucid, but they advised me to allow "3 to 4 weeks" for shipping. It arrived in four days! It didn't even occur to me that the package was the test kits because a) I didn't think they'd be coming via Amazon, and b) my mind wasn't expecting them until sometime after Election Day.
So was the "surprise" in the surprise delivery a sign of cognitive decline, or an excusable oversight given the circumstances? Was it in any way connected to forgetting about the Nation of Languages show at The Earl tonight? Am I coming down with dementia, or are these lapses an excusable part of modern life?
Don't ask me - I'd be the last to know.
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