Unforgetful Lucy

I, Kaelly Welsh, possess a lot of clumsy, ditzy, panic-y type qualities that generally make me a walking disaster. But if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s forgetful; I am not forgetful, not even a little bit. I’m not even forgetful when I want to be forgetful – sometimes, it’s impossible for me to forget things.

Ya know those people who are bad at names? Or can’t seem to ever remember special days or birthdays? That is the exact opposite of who I am. I will remember everyone’s names and birthdays for the rest of my life even if I never see them again. There is literally a portion of my brain that refuses to let me forget birthdays (I’m pretty sure it takes up like ¾ of what’s supposed to be the ‘standardized testing’ area). In High School, people actually thought I was creepy because I pretty much knew everyone’s birthday until the end of time (shout-out Emmy524)!

Most of the important events from my lifetime are attached to a number in my head, whether or not I want to keep it that way. Earlier this week was the five-year anniversary of the time I wrecked my mom’s car and probably should’ve died. That’s a day I don’t mind remembering; in fact, I’d be pretty happy if I celebrated that day for the rest of my life. But every year in December, I remember the exact day (AND TIME) that my very first boyfriend asked me out. Don’t get me wrong, that’s not a bad memory, and it’s not something I hate thinking about, but it is a nuisance. It’s a memory that is just taking up space in my brain where I could put other information (like how to change a tire – I should really learn that one).

I used to get angry when I had to introduce myself to people three or four times before they could ever remember who I was. Actually, when they would introduce themselves, I would stop them and say something like, “I know, I know. You’re Kaelly Welsh, you go to AHST, you’re a Junior. We’ve met like three times.” Then, I sort of got a reputation of being creepy (which, ok, that’s pretty valid), so I had to start pretending that I was meeting everyone for the first time even if I knew everything about them.

I thought that this would get better as I got older, but I had to meet a girl for the third time this last weekend. I still get bitter about it as I shake their hand for the third time and play pretend for a few minutes, but at least I’ve learned to fake it ‘til they make it.

My father, who might be the most forgetful person I’ve ever met in my life, has never left the house just one time in the entire 21 years that I’ve been alive. Every single morning for as long as I can remember, he walks from his truck to the house a minimum of three times just to make sure that he has his phone, wallet, keys, and hat (that’s a lot of things to remember, guys). Sometimes, he even legitimately forgets that his truck has doors and will bash his head on the side of the door (I wish I could make these things up, I really do). Maybe that’s why he’s so forgetful – we’ll probably never know.

My dad and I are a lot alike in a lot of really weird ways. I promise you that I’m the only person in the world (besides my father) who’s gone to the store, bought two boxes of the same brand of coffee, and come home to realize that one was caffeinated and one was decaf. But forgetfulness is not something that we have in common. Unfortunately – or fortunately – I’m like my mother when it comes to long lasting memories and creepy introductions.

For 7.5 years now, I’ve successfully had a cell phone without ever losing it. Sure, I’ve misplaced it a few times or lost it momentarily in my backpack, but it’s pretty much never been more than five feet away from me for the entire 7.5 years, so I never really even had the chance to lose it.

One of my best friends from college is a “perpetual misplacer.” (OK, fine I just made that up, but that doesn’t make it invalid.) She has a hard time going a single day without misplacing her keys or cellphone or wallet – sometimes all three at once! The day she lost her planner in college was the only time in my three years of knowing her that I’ve seen her have a complete meltdown. It’s actually totally normal for her to have multiple panic attacks in a day because she can’t find something she needs. At this point, it’s a pretty normal part of her life.

Until this weekend, I’d never experienced the panic of actually losing my phone. The most I’ve ever gone without a phone since I was 14 years old was three days (I’m pretending that I didn’t get grounded that one time and get my phone taken away for a whole month).

When I first realized that I’d lost my phone, I was totally calm. I assumed that it would show up somewhere, or that someone would turn it in to a Lost and Found. Three days later, it hadn’t showed up, still couldn’t be tracked, and I was forced to spend a fortune on a new phone (half of my job is making phone calls – stop being judgmental). I’m still hoping that someone will find it and return it to me, but it’s been four days now, and I’ve pretty much lost all hope that honest people still exist.

This past weekend has made me really grumpy and upset with myself for being forgetful, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful for a cell phone in my entire life. I guess, if I try really hard, I can see this as a blessing dressed up as horrific nightmare.


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