I have had my mobile phone number for the past 3478 days and about 3475 days ago I had my number memorised. So great is my freakingly good memory that even whilst drunk or recovering from the dramatic effects of a general anesthetic my mobile number slips off my tongue as if I had been born with it as an inbuilt piece of genetic information.
So to my great surprise and sickening shock, today whilst leaving a message on somebody's message bank, I had a mental blank and for the life of me could not remember this blasted number. I ended up leaving what I thought was my number all the while knowing in my heart of hearts that, that number was not mine.
To further disturb my otherwise cruisy day, involving not much more than sleep, food, Timezone and Ricky Gervais, I discovered that due to my decade of perfect remembrance of my number that I had no record anywhere of what my number actually is. It wasn't in my phone, it wasn't in my computer address book, it wasn't written on a tiny scrap of paper that was shoved at the back of a drawer along with my primary school graduation photo and half used tubes of hand cream. No, my trust in my memory to serve me to my death, was absolute and to write down my number anywhere was simply an insult to it.
I decided that my only option was to message a friend, admit to having a less than perfect memory and get my number off her. But before I did that I decided that I must record this monumental occasion on facebook. As I logged in and went to my profile, I was suddenly faced with my phone number. Plain as day it sat there on my profile and I realised that my sub conscious must have realised that somehow that I wasn't perfect and that there was a chance that one day I would forget my number. I guess my trust in my memory wasn't as absolute as I first suggested.
I took note of my number. I had given the wrong one to the person who I had called earlier. I am a failure.
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