During a recent interview I was asked what song best captures this phase in my life. I gave some random John Coltrane title that was meant to cloak myself in an aura of sophistication and deep intellectualism.
In retrospect, the soundtrack of this particular era of my life should be I Keep Forgettin' by Michael McDonald of Doobie Brothers fame.
I cannot seem to remember anything. The other day I was multitasking my way through Wimbledon tennis on the telly while participating in a WhatsApp debate about 19th-century matriarchs such as Mkabayi kaJama and Mantatisi and preparing a bacon-and-cheese bake.
I distinctly remember taking the crushed garlic from the icebox, pausing to tell one of my WhatsApp pals that he was debating out of his colon, and rushing to the TV lounge to see if Rafa Nadal had crashed out.
Then I remembered that I wanted to braise some garlic - if only I could find it. It took me at least four minutes to locate the garlic next to the DStv decoder. Now, if only I could find the remote. I searched everywhere, including the freezer, because you'd be surprised how often the remote ends up in the freezer.
I finally found it perched atop the cistern in the bathroom despite having no recollection of having been in there.The other day I wander into my local Spar in search of ... uh-oh, what did she say I must buy again? Bread? Eggs? Milk? Dog food? No. So I figure that I'm going to zigzag through the aisles until something jogs my whisky-eroded memory. Nope, nothing.
The reason I'm not calling to ask her is because when she was telling me what to buy I was only listening with one ear. The other ear was far more interested in the White House press secretary explaining Trump's tweets. Nowadays she doesn't tell me that I'm not listening because I always insist that I am listening. So I couldn't call her and ask her.
I called the 12-year-old. After all he'd been sitting right there. Sorry, Baba, but I was on my tablet, I didn't hear a thing. Finally, I had to tuck my tail between my legs and call her. Ah! Caustic soda for the drain!
And not too long ago, I left home, crossed the Boerewors Curtain that separates my Ekurhuleni abode from civilisation and got on the N3 north all the way to the Buccleuch interchange before going, "Hang on, this is not the way to Soweto."
I'm only in my mid-40s, right? Is it too many beers? Early-onset Alzheimer's? My friends reckon it's a case of too many distractions in this era of constant bombardment with information.Nowadays I spend the first 10 minutes after leaving my house trying to figure what I forgot to take with. At precisely that cut-off point where making a U-turn is not an option I'll always remember the basketball cap and shades I need to ward off the sun during the kids' football games. And I remember that I put them on the table nearest to the door "so that I see them on my way out".
The worst feeling is trying to remember if you actually applied deodorant or just thought about it. Followed by the obligatory armpit sniffing. And then you're that guy making chitchat with the Kenyan high commissioner hoping that her excellency's nose is blocked from the harsh Gauteng winter and can't pick up any funk.
Tell me if I'm the only 40-plus individual this happens to: you leave the parking area, get into the elevator and then start trying to remember if you locked the car. Now you're that idiot pressing the lower basement button so you can go down and check. Of course you've locked your car. Well, except those times when after thinking about it, your malfunctioning memory whispers sweet nothings: "I'm absolutely certain that I locked it."
Naturally, when you return, the car is unlocked. You devise a rule - if you're not certain that the car is locked, it probably is; but if you're sure that you locked it, it probably isn't. Problem solved. Until you're feeling very confident that you've locked it, which means you walk back to lock it - and you find it already locked.
I wanted to conclude this column with something profound. I just can't remember what it is.
• Follow the author of this article, Ndumiso Ngcobo, on Twitter: @NdumisoNgcobo..