I had a purpose when I left the kitchen. I don't just wander around in a fog. Here I am in the living room, baffled. Maybe I left something in here, like slippers or crackers. I'm a nighttime cracker guy.
I've already opened my blinds, so I'd better look like I have some purpose in case neighbors are peering in. Don't want them to think I'm scattered.
Did I come in to turn on the TV? I could watch TV in bed. If I wanted to sweep, why am I not holding a broom? Same with dusting. Maybe if I retraced my steps. I was in the bathroom peeing. What was I thinking about? How good this pee felt. Before that I was in the kitchen. I was thinking about having to pee.
Perhaps I came in to check something on my computer. Maybe I had an idea and wanted to type it out before I forgot it. It may have been conceived in the kitchen and vanished by the time I got to the parlor. It's hard not to imagine this being a precursor to a downward spiral leading to assisted living. At least my sneakers are tied. I assume they're my sneakers.
Maybe if I exercised the blood would flow faster and clear my mind.
So here I am in the living room, dancing, throwing down moves.
I forgot why I'm doing this.
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