On the Horns of a Dilemma Arent you paying attention?

I was asked as my mother, on the verge of losing her patience, and I discussed what restaurant we were going to go to on Mothers Day. I knew my husband made reservations and told me the time and place, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldnt seem to recall what he said. This has been happening to me quite frequently in the past few months and if anyone didnt know the real me, one who is always on top of things and plans ahead, people would probably think I was possibly suffering from a neurological disorder, some sort of brain tumor, or maybe Alzheimers disease. They would probably think there is something physical happening which does not allow me to process or retain information. They would be right in their assumption, but only partly. My inability to process and retain information has nothing to do with a disease or a physical abnormality occurring in my brain such as a tumor, or a fault in the synapses and neurons which aid and carry out the thought process. I am definitely not lacking in conceptualization or recollection skills. Instead, my mind is jam packed with ponderings and contemplations for which I cannot seem to make any sense. Numerous thoughts are tangled and connected like the little red chimpanzees in the game Barrel of Monkeys. What has me topsy-turvy is I am trying to understand how someone can be so stubborn, so willing to act in ways that can be hurtful to her and others just because she can. I am preoccupied with deep introspection, attempting to come up with an answer to this dilemma and many others. I try to look back on a much simpler time when anything I said to this person was taken as Gospel truth, well for the most part anyway. At least my opinions were trusted. So many things need to be said, so many feelings need to be expressed. How do I collect my thoughts and try to put some semblance of order to the many ruminations weighing in my mind? I am truly obsessed with the solution to a problem that I may never be able to solve. After all, people need to grow and mature emotionally in their own time. I was given two books by one of my children as a gift. Whether it was for my birthday, last Mothers Day or another holiday, I cant recall. I thanked my daughter for these books, both journals, and set them aside for someday in the future when I had time. If she understood the significance of these books at the time she gifted them to me, she never let on. A few months ago I moved them to my bedside table, intrigued by the fact that one of the books was a journal to be used to write down your thoughts when you cant sleep. Surely, I could use that one; I cant remember the last time I actually slept through the night. The other book was for stating your opinions on specific topics. Boy, did I have opinions! Perhaps if I wrote down all the