Fearing Alzheimer’s

I was home early last night. as I plan to be for the next two weeks to help me avoid carb-temptation as I start, yet again, another diet. South beach this time.

I decided that its time for some serious reading again. None of these novels, best categorized as cute, that I’ve been reading these past months.

Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, a book I’ve vowed to read ever since (along with the Bible and War and Peace) was my first candidate. I couldn’t find it. What I found instead were dust-covered copies of Camus’ The Plague and Dostoevsky’s Notes from the Underground.

Two books I know, for a fact, I read in college.

Two works of art, in fact, that Im certain I’ve written reviews for for one philosophy course or another.

Two literary pieces that I remember enjoying and learning from.

AND

Two stories that I absolutely have no recollection of as I blog.

So I scanned through Underground last night. déjà vu was what it felt like. A place I’ve been and abandoned without any real or vivid memory.

Scary thing is this is not the first time this has happened.

Many times, I’d be halfway reading a book or watching a movie when I realize that I’ve read/seen it before.

It scares me shitless.

My grandmother spent the last years of her life battling, no – wrong word, surrendering to Alzheimer’s.

I hear its hereditary.

And Im scared shitless.