I left my laptop at home en route to a three-day business trip to DC.
I realized it stumbling through a TSA check point. Belt and shoes off. Nothing in my pockets. No weapons. Then the instruction to put all electronic devices larger than a cell phone in a separate tray. I reach into my bag. Nothing. Nothing. Donde esta laptop? Ahhh!
I have never blown this! What do I do? How can I go forward? I looked at my iPhone 12 and said, “This is your time to show your value and the value of your platform.” (In fact, I thumbed this piece on it. If you don’t like it, it’s only partly the iPhone’s fault.)
Then a dark cloud followed me down the ramp and onto the plane.
This is not my first travel rodeo. I am a weekly traveler and I have never brain-farted like this. As my family will be attest, I’m special, in that spectrum-y kind of way. I have a drill before leaving the house: spectacles, testicles, wallet, watch, phone. Never have I forgotten my laptop. It’s my money-maker, my digital blankie.
I’m hoping it was just a post-Covid return to travel, some lost bats in my personal belfry. My fear is that it’s a sign of Alzheimer’s disease—which runs in the Shepherd family. Alzheimer’s is the thief in the night I fear most. My Dad had it. His Dad had it. I expect it—although I try to live like an ostrich with regards to the things beyond my control. All five of them. Do I really have it already?
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