I’m too young to be senile. But sometimes… Sometimes I wonder.
Take this little story for instance. A few minutes ago, no fooling, no silliness. I was on Amazon, looking at all the books I’ll never get to read. I started with Richard Matheson, and once finished looking over what was offered there I decided to head to another writer.
Now Matheson wrote for The Twilight Zone, so instantly I thought of another non Rod Serling writer. I knew which one I wanted, but the name wouldn’t come. It was… God, I knew it a second ago… I was just thinking about him… Richard something. Damn it, where’d the name go. Robert! No. No, that ain’t it.
But Robert made me think of Robert Bloch, so I decide the hell with No Name. I’ll look up Bloch.
I get no more that to the first B when the right name pops in my head: Charles Beaumont.
How the Hell do you get an R name confused with a C name?
I’m too young for this forgetful crap. I just turned thirty-five last month. True, it was for the fourth time, but still. Too young