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

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