I stood in the doorway of my bedroom and forgot why I’d gone upstairs

Dear Delyara, It wasn’t dramatic. Just one of those tired blanks. I stood there looking at the bed, the basket of clean clothes, the mirror, the charger cable, and I knew there had been a reason I came up, but it had gone. The reason came back eventually — I’d gone to get the children’s inhaler from the top drawer — but not before I had that familiar, sinking thought: I am carrying too much in my head again. I wish small lapses didn’t affect me so much. But they do, because they touch the deeper fear that one day I will simply become too thinly stretched to hold this life together properly. That fear is larger than the forgotten reason. But the forgotten reason opens the door to it.