I’m so forgetful, what was I remembering about?

As a 20 something, I’m forever fighting a battle to manage the important things. Making sure that my deadlines are hit, keeping the mind sane and healthy and most importantly keeping the important things like my wallet and my travel ticket safe. Have I managed all three of those things? I’d say two of those things are being managed correctly and can you guess what I haven’t been keeping safe? I’ll give you a hint. I’m in better shape than the Northern Trains, and My mind is as balanced as a greengrocer’s scale.

If you guessed keeping the wallet safe as the one I’m not managing correctly then you’ve won the round and its now time to play the bonus game. In the past two months as my life at the university has blossomed so has my inability to keep certain items of importance safe.

It started about four weeks ago on a cold morning in Chester-Le-Street, having sat down on the 78 I began to read my newspaper. Without caring about my bus ticket and focusing my mind on the antics of the great Brexit debate, the little blue blighter fell out my pocket.  It wasn’t until my realisation at the gym later that day and a Facebook message from a kind Samaritan. The Samaritan came out of his way to personally give me the ticket back.

The Journey of the blue ticket would continue late into the next Wednesday, as I walked home from a late night in my second home of Sunderland. As I walked up the bank home with my phone and ticket in my left hand and my right hand tucked into my pocket. I got through the door and placed both objects down and this would be the last time I’d ever see the ticket.

As I had managed to get a new travel ticket. My friends and I decided to go to the Metrocentre for a trip to a tattoo parlour and a subway tea.  Later that evening I’m sat down on the bus home. Having secured the travel ticket in my wallet, I went to place my wallet in my pocket as normal. “Everything is going great tonight,” I said.

As I got off the bus and into the house, I begin to perform the British Haka. Looking for my wallet while pulling all sorts of funny faces, running around the house and tapping each pocket. 15 minutes in and I receive a text message from the bus company. My Wallet had been handed into lost property.

It was at this moment I knew my forgetfulness had reached a level to which I couldn’t forget about. I need to screw my head back on. How did I manage at school? I remember being super strict on leaving certain items in a place where I can remember. My wallet lived in the kitchen with my keys and I always kept my bus passes with my phone. I Got into the habit of every night of taking my everyday items and putting them safely. Perhaps tomorrow morning my wallet and keys will be waiting for me in my kitchen key bowl? If I remember to put them in of course.

Getting from A to B shouldn’t be that difficult, or is it?

Living as a student means three things: I’m always thinking ahead and realising I don’t have enough time in the day, two is that I am consistently checking my bank account to see how much money I have left, and three I’m trapped in the constant mindfuck that is public transport.  Plagued by the nonsensical timetables. Constantly frustrated when buses just disappear from the radar and having to smile and bite my tongue at the cheek of the drivers.

It’s annoying how the latter makes my love of buses more of burning hatred, I am a bus enthusiast and have always loved getting on bus routes, learning about the buses and teaching myself how the technology inside them works.

I am always the problem passenger to the drivers, when I held a concession bus pass for my autism. When I was a young boy I’d be the one who gets the random checks and the constant questions about the nature of my autism. I even had one driver throw me off a busy bus for having a fake pass. Spoiler alert he got punished for that after a letter to the managing director.

It’s quite funny that the bus companies always bang on about how reliable the service is, yet it seems they can’t see when a bus doesn’t show up. I often find myself daily debating on which way to commute home. I’ll stand and wait for one route for it to not show up and then leave for the second way home only to find the one I waited for just turns up and zooms like a red arrows jet passed the bus stop.

Then on the odd chance that I manage to get on a bus that shows up, and a driver who doesn’t give me the full CIA interrogation about where I’m going or what sort of condition I have. I end off forgetting my headphones and having to listen to the delightful tales and anecdotes from the older generations. I’m a social person at the best of times Afterall I am a journalist, and I do talk to people. But at 7am in the morning and coffee deprived I am Definity, the king of the anti-social crew.

I love buses, but not enough to actively go out on a bus adventure, maybe I’ll take up walking around and rambling. Then I can go out and be social among the elders at a suitable time such as 9am or even the fable 1pm.

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