Fibro Fog: the inability to remain focused for more than 2 seconds at a time. The inability to retain any type of information, including your name, how to perform your normal daily routine or where the heck you put ANTHING in your house in the last, oh I’d say, 2 years, even though you may have remembered all that information, in great detail, YESTERDAY!

Let me give you a perfect example.

When Mike and I first got married, we ordered new checks with both our names on them. When they came in the mail, I took one book out for use and filed the others away. Well, when it came time that I needed another book, I couldn’t find the other checks. After a day of thorough searching, and yelling, I finally found them and vowed I would never let that happen again. Fast forward three years. We were all out of checks so I ordered new ones. They came, I took one book out and proceeded to place the others in a “safe” place so I wouldn’t lose them. I repeated the place in my head multiple times so I wouldn’t forget. And it’s not like we live in a mansion, so how difficult could it be? You would be surprised! Wouldn’t you know it, on Thursday I went to look for the checks in my “safe place” and they weren’t there. Yeah, I forget where my safe place is. And hence why this day is going to consist of thorough searching and yelling. How do I fix this problem? I’m not really sure. I thought of having Mike put them somewhere but even in my worst fibro fogs, I can find things better than he can. Men are just not capable of finding things…it’s in their nature. My mom used to tell me that it’s because they don’t have a uterus. Don’t know why that would make the big difference but it works for me!

So my dilemma continues. What compounds the problem is I need to find those checks today because up here in New Hampshire, the Town Hall doesn’t take debit cards or credit cards to re-register your vehicle. I need checks. Of course I do.

Plus, I dread going to the town hall. They hate me. I’m serious. These two old women work there, and have probably worked there for 50 years, and they despise me. They love my husband, because he’s always lived in New Hampshire. As soon as they found out I am originally from Massachusetts, however…all hell broke loose. Every time I go in there, it is a hassle.

“Oh, sorry, we can’t do that for you today even though you had to take the day off from work because we are only open 11 AM-3 PM on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

“I know you’ve lived in New Hampshire for almost 4 years now but we need proof that you really do live at your current residence. Yes, I know you have lived there for 2 ½ years and we didn’t make your husband bring in a years worth of electric bills as proof. Mmm hmm, I realize we didn’t make you do this last year, but we need it from you today.”

Yeah, Live Free or Die…