Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: memory

  • The Great Phone Number Fiasco: Why I Can’t Remember a Single Number Anymore

    The Great Phone Number Fiasco: Why I Can’t Remember a Single Number Anymore

    The Great Phone Number Fiasco: Why I Can’t Remember Numbers Anymore

    Remember the good old days when you could rattle off the phone numbers of all your best friends, your childhood home, and maybe even your favorite pizza place? Yeah, me neither. And before you assume I’m just getting up there in years, let me assure you, this is a millennial problem too.

    The Day My Brain Outsourced Phone Numbers

    It all hit me a few weeks ago. I was at the counter in a bustling bakery, the aroma of fresh bread battling with the cacophony of coffee orders. My phone, nestled snugly in my pocket, began to vibrate with the urgency of a text message from my husband. “Can you grab a baguette?” it read. Simple enough, right?

    But then it struck me. I needed to call him back to confirm. But his number, the one I’d dialed, texted, and memorized years ago, had vanished into the ether of my brain. Poof! Gone. I stood there, phone in hand, feeling like a contestant on a game show who’d just blanked on the easiest question.

  • The Great Phone Number Fiasco: Why I Can’t Remember My Own Number (And Other Tales of Forgetfulness)

    The Great Phone Number Fiasco: Why I Can’t Remember My Own Number (And Other Tales of Forgetfulness)



    forgetfulness, with anecdotes that’ll make you laugh and say, “That’s SO me!”

    The Case of the Vanishing Phone Number

    Picture this: I’m at a bustling coffee shop, the air thick with the aroma of caffeine and chatter. I hit it off with someone new, and just as we’re about to exchange numbers, disaster strikes. My mind goes blank. A tumbleweed rolls by in the dusty corners of my brain.

    “Uh… could you hold on a sec? I just need to… uh… check my phone,” I stammer, desperately clutching at my digital lifeline.

    My own phone number. The one I’ve had for five years. The one I should be able to recite in my sleep. It’s gone. Vanished. Flown the coop.

    Forgetfulness Reaches New Levels

    Now, you might be thinking, “Okay, forgetting your phone number is one thing, but surely it can’t get any worse…” Oh, my friend. You underestimate the depths of my forgetfulness.

    One evening, after a long day, I arrived home, groceries in hand, ready to collapse. But as I reached for my keys… empty pocket. Panic surged through me like a jolt of electricity.

    Where were my keys? I retraced my steps, mentally replaying the day. Nothing. I checked every nook and cranny of my apartment. Still nothing. Just when I was about to resign myself to a night locked out, I stumbled upon a sight that made me question my sanity.

    There, nestled snugly between the cartons of milk and leftover takeout, were my keys. In the refrigerator.