I've got my physical ones like the real world syndromes such as De Quervain's Syndrome, diabetic necrotic syndrome, chronic compulsive eating syndrome, alcohol dependence syndrome, and I just don't give a fuck anymore syndrome.
Now you might think the last one in the list above defines what I mean by Oscar the Grouch Syndrome, but actually what I'm referring to is more of a diminishing ability in being confident in my powers of recollection.
I haven't had any real scientific diagnosis regarding this yet so I'm a little bit standoffish in so far as saying that this is yet another physical syndrome akin to, say, Alzheimer's or dementia, but I definitely feel a little nervous about it.
I've already had several posts now making mention about quite a few instances of either misplaced memories or things I had totally forgotten all together that should have been easily recalled and this is disturbing enough in and of itself. But the Oscar the Grouch syndrome is a little more specific.
You'll notice above, the notation with the picture of none other than Oscar himself, stating the phrase Tuesday and Friday. These are the days of the week that the garbage truck comes to pick up the garbage. These have been the same days of the week ever since the City of Sebring annexed our subdivision and thus took over our municipal resources such as garbage pickup. I think that was back in 2020.
And ever since, I have had trouble, every single week, trying to remember which days of the week the garbage men come. Actually, I think I remembered a little bit better a few years back but now I literally need a notepad reminder so I can refer to it anytime my garbage is getting near to full so I know when to put it out next. Otherwise, that stinky can will be sitting there waiting to be put out on the front lawn while I am woken up by the sound of the garbage truck coming down the road catching me totally off guard.
And this is where the syndrome is most noticed. Something that is repeated almost continually and thus, should be part of rote memory, but instead, is continually and religiously forgotten.
Another odd instance of this is the name of this mobile home park. I'm continually trying to figure out what the name of this mobile home park is. I get confused whether it's Lakeside or Lakeview or some other version of Lake whatever. And I've lived here for 5 years! But I sometimes forget how many years I've been here too!
Oh, and don't get me started about things when they deal with numbers. My home address. If someone asks me if I live at "twenty five thirteen" I don't recognize it right away. I know it almost exclusively as "two-five-one-three." And my phone number? I still have to look it up. I've had it for almost two years.
Here's another one. Just this morning, I was looking through some files in Windows Explorer and I came across a picture of those dingleberries I used to work with over at Ridge Area Arc and I thought to myself "Gee, I haven't seen them in quite a few months, it's not been since earlier in the year back in May when I left there." No Michael...it was May of 2023!!
Never mind forgetting people's names that I should be able to remember. Never mind mixing up events of the past. Never mind all the common senior moment type stuff.
I was looking at potentially doing another binge and I thought, what about Westworld? I hadn't seen that in a while. I looked up a Reddit post on it and one Redditor mentioned how they liked it but bemoaned the fact that in the end all humanity was wiped out. Huh I asked? Pulled up Wikipedia. An entire fourth season occurred in 2022 that I didn't even know about. So yeah, I guess I got to binge that, but more than just that missed last season, I would have to binge pretty much the whole thing because I forgot a lot of it. Same with Foundation. Now, a lot can be said of the fact that these shows that come on the scene, make a big bang, get a lot of hype, get people like me all excited and make fanboys out of us, and then leave for a year and a half between seasons making us forget everything, well, and then you add in the fact that people like me are no spring chickens anymore, what the heck do you expect!?
I watched a documentary yesterday about (see I just had the syndrome, I can't remember his name, oh now I remember...) Gene Wilder, and he passed away a few years ago from Alzheimer's and his slide down the slippery forget me forever slope started with little things, like, perhaps, garbage pickup days (no they didn't say that I'm just supposing). But then before long it progressed to his forgetting things like in the midst of a seemingly ordinary conversation he would forget the name of the film Young Frankenstein. As his wife remarked in the documentary, it was his favorite film that he did. There'd be no way he'd ever forget this normally.
I guess another scary moment for someone like his wife who had to witness his decline was a situation where he underwent a simple cognitive test and was instructed by the person conducting the test to draw a simple clock face with a pencil and a piece of paper and indicate on it the hands pointing to 10:30. He sat there wrinkling his forehead with the pencil in his hand staring at the paper intensely. He wasn't upset. He didn't express undo frustration. In fact it was his mildly amused demeanor which was most troubling to his wife as he simply stated that he just couldn't figure out how to do it. He was losing his mind and he was just like "meh."
Oddly enough, I find comfort in this thought. If I go this way, I'll have no loved ones around me to cry a silent tear and be afraid for me as I descend into the dark annals of no longer being. I'll just throw up my green-furred paws in bemused surrender, nestle back down into my comfy little trash can and bid the world I no longer recognize a big ol' "meh."