I’m almost 40. Thirty-nine. Which, I know, isn’t ancient or anything. But I keep forgetting things lately. Like, little stuff, big stuff. It’s hard to tell, you know? Like, I went to grab a coffee this morning, totally forgot my wallet. Had to walk all the way back home. And it’s not just once, it’s… a lot. I’m a graphic designer, so my brain is supposed to be, like, ON, all the time. But sometimes I stare at the screen and it’s just… blank. Or I lose a file I *just* saved, and I’m clicking around like a maniac, getting frustrated, and then oh, it was right there. I don’t know. I feel like my friends, they’re all still so sharp. Crushing it at work, remembering every detail of every conversation. And I’m over here, wondering if I just… aged out prematurely. Est-ce que c’est ça? Maybe it’s stress. I mean, my mom… she’s not doing great. I’m like, a thousand miles away, trying to coordinate doctors and home care over the phone, and every call just feels like a punch to the gut. Like I’m not doing enough, or I’m doing it wrong. And she asks me to remember things, little details from her past, and sometimes I just… can’t. Or I mix them up. And I see the disappointment in her voice, even though she tries to hide it. And then I feel bad for *her*, and then I feel bad for *me*. It's a whole thing. I don’t know if this counts as a confession, really. More like just… a worry, I guess. That I’m getting… dull. And nobody really talks about this part of getting older. Not in my circle, anyway. Everyone’s so busy talking about starting families or promotions, and I’m just quietly over here, trying to remember if I locked the front door. And trying not to freak out about it. It’s just… a lot. And I’m tired. Always tired.