ACS

     My poor, fuzzy little brain. It is becoming increasingly ill-equipped to deal with the hard stuff, and I am not referring to 80-proof! For instance, recently we had to deal with banking matters that were WAY more complicated than my basic deposit/withdrawal abilities are used to. As we plunged deeper into the FDIC twilight-zone, I started to flounder. While trying to find misplaced and errant papers I began to stop mid-process, turn a slow circle, and ask myself; “Now, what did I come in here for?”
     Recently, I have been telling my friends and family that I am taking on more and more *Aunt Clara*-type tendencies. {If you do not know who Aunt Clara was, were you born under a rock? No? Ahh, then you must be under fifty years of age. Egads! Seriously, a bit of research on the show ‘Bewitched” from the 1960’s will enlighten you.}  Anyway, I have given this tragic affliction a name; ACS or ‘Aunt-Clara-Syndrome.’
     Besides collecting door knobs and wrestling with complete sentences, I find that the more complicated the task---as in any of the afore-mentioned basic financial transaction skills---the more befuddled I become. You may scoff, but I used to be a maniac of a multi-tasker! Now I consider breathing, blinking, involuntary kidney function, etc.…AND attempting whatever duty that is actually at hand brilliant “multi-tasking”.
   ACS will eventually require me to wear a skewed hat and also carry a carpet-bag for the door knobs. No worries there, however I am concerned about the bulky little wool-knit blend suits. Still it is inevitable and I have resigned myself to such facts as; my hair is beginning to seek out---unbidden---the same ‘spun-sugar’ texture as hers, my intense interest in door knobs is becoming a possible 12-Step-addiction, AND making giant messes when trying to be helpful is becoming the norm.
    Here’s an interesting fact: When a newly opened box of Reynold’s Wrap leaps from your hands and flies out before you like a bright shiny runway carpet, how fast it unfurls is in direct proportion to how desperately you clutch and grab at it. If you are tragically afflicted with ACS it doesn’t merely ‘unfurl’ no, it skitters off, laughing manically. Trying to keep it all off of the floor to avoid the dog hair is like waltzing with an octopus or possibly disentangling yourself from the fishing-net on an ocean-going trawler. Not that I have actually done either…but I bet Aunt Clara has!
   Another thing that you may not know ---and I could have gone another fifty years without finding this out---is that trying to smoothly roll it all back up again is like trying to get the toothpaste back in the tube or unsweeten the tea. It doesn’t work too well, yeah…not so much. It actually increases to about ten times its own girth around the tube. [Note to physics teachers: you might want to look into this.] This colossally useless roll is now sitting in my kitchen--sans box; in all of its shiny, naked crinkliness. It may be hairy but you just don’t throw good foil away!
   I share this cautionary tale with you only to emphasize how vital it is that you immediately become highly nervous and fearful that, you too, may develop this unfortunate syndrome. Please do NOT mistake ACS for mere early-onset senility, oh if it were only that clear-cut. Below are the top three symptoms an ACS sufferer might pass through…or not.
1.) The Phoebe Buffay Blurt –It may begin subtly, but eventually the brain disengages from the mouth. You actually stop possessing an inner monologue, loudly announcing opinions, whilst in public, that best remain private. You divulge secrets to the whole room which friends had entrusted you with years ago…but alas you forgot that part. You did not forget however; what your friend did after the Peter Frampton concert in the parking lot! Thirty-five years later you feel the need to share the merriment with her grown children. She is NOT amused, they are, but she is NOT…
2.) The Rose Nylund Blather--With this symptom you may find yourself nattering incessantly about subjects that no one else even remotely cares about, such as ‘Uncle Fingerbinger and his 60 pound rutabaga.’ Or as Rose put it; “My mother always used to say: ‘The older you get, the better you get, unless you're a banana.’
3.) The Aunt Clara Waffle—Now in full-blown ACS; you may find yourself in Wal-Mart, dithering over two seemingly identical packages of solid-color curtains, anxiously clutching them, and trying to decide between them because----get ready----one is tab-top and one is standard! In this stage of ACS you will stay there in piteous indecision until your sister insists that you just “pick a freakin’ pair.”---True story.
    Though there is no known cure for ACS---not even a stinking telethon, or a dollar of federal research funds---the best form of treatment is to….um…whaddaya-call-it??? Embrace it! Once you give up trying to be functional you just feel so much better! People begin to accept you, you begin to accept you. It’s nice. Just don’t expect anybody to go curtain shopping with you. Tonya Willman ©2011