“Excusez-moi”

....Or perhaps I should shout Hex-KYOOZE me! For applying pencil to paper to prove my brain ain’t failing.
I had a horrible dream the other morning, that I was at the Town Clerk’s Office, and couldn’t remember why I was there.
The clerk tried to humor me into remembering, but it wasn’t working.
I explained I had a stroke and sometimes have difficulty getting words out.
It’s called aphasia. It can make people unable to talk at all.
With me it’s slight, but enough to make people say “Wassa matter? Cat got your tongue?”
This didn’t seem like aphasia. It was a brain-fart, a so-called “senior moment.”
I woke up worried my brain was failing.
I remember what a thrill it was to come home after my stroke and find I could still write.
Certain things got vaporized.
Nine years of classical piano training went away. I can no longer play piano.
I suppose I could, but I’m not interested. Too much trouble.
I used to have perfect pitch. I may still have it; but I can no longer hold a tune.
People were horrified I wasn’t singing as my father was lowered into the grave, but I couldn’t do it. I had to explain to the pastor I couldn’t hold a tune.
I also can no longer draw. In college I drew ’55 Chevys until I was blue-in-the-face. A feeble attempt to get proportions right.
What I needed was a side-elevation photograph I could section.
My ’32 Ford five-window looked pretty good, done that way.
But now my hands are too spastic to draw a straight line, even with a straight-edge.
Again, not interested. Too much trouble.
What I can do is sling words = write. Although I have sloppy keyboarding. But word-processor computer software helps.
Mistypes get flagged as misspells.
What a joy it was to find word-processing could let me write = something I enjoyed doing anyway.
I may be wrong, but I consider my ability to still sling words indicates my brain isn’t failing yet.
But I am getting older. “Now why did I open this refrigerator door?”
“What did I do with the cereal? Maybe it’s still in the carton — I’m capable of that.
Nope; not there.
Why there it is, on top of my chest-of-drawers. Right were I dropped it.”
I don’t go out without checking the stove first.
Brain-farts all, that come with advancing age. But I can still sling words.

• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, and it slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty finding and putting words together.)