Ramble on

What is it called when you get off an airplane?

What is that body of water that is sometimes man-made and doesn’t travel?

Hell, what is that muscle in the top part of your arm?

I’ve forgotten all of these in the past week. Week, people.

Word retrieval has long been the bane of my existence. Which, to put in clinical terms, sucks hard. Because I make a living at writing and editing.

I am terrible at public speaking and get flustered really easily. Combine those with one of the more subtle symptoms of MS, brain fog, and you can imagine my frustration at trying to form words into sentences and sentences into complete thoughts.

Case in point:

Nick and I were driving home around dusk the other night and we took our usual scenic route by the lake. We see a tiny dog prancing along the road, flirting with the idea of danger and crossing said road over to said lake.

Being the animal lovers we are, we stopped (OK, I pouted in silence until Nick turned around) and I attempted to steer the dog back toward home. I escorted him up a driveway, where a man was relaxing on his front porch.

“Is this your dog?” I called out.

“Yes. Harley! Harley, come here. I can’t believe he got out again,” the owner said. “Thank you. Where did you find him?”

“Uh, the street. He had crossed into the river,” I stammered. “He crossed over.”

Huh? I had no idea what I was blathering on about, but the simple word “lake” was obviously not a part of my vocabulary.

I might as well have said I turned into Charon had carted his dog across the river Styx.

Harley trotted up his driveway back to the warm embrace of home, and I receded back to the car. The owner returned to his porch, I’m sure confused by the strange rambling woman who brought his dog home.

But highly likely not as confused as I was.