So then there was that one time I couldn't remember how to get off the bed.

No, I'm not demented, no more than usual. Less, in fact, now that I am making an effort to avoid toxic elements of my existence, best as one can.

           Our bed is up a shitty iron ladder - a ladder which, when getting off, you must really know what you're doing, so you don't slip and fall and at worse break your neck or at best, break both legs in four places. There is a moment between sitting on the high mattress edge and then bending, slipping down and having to catch one of the lower handles with your toes. It is never pleasant or safe. You only have one chance, as the body starts slipping. I have to think about something completely different so as not to imagine myself missing the handle and falling. There was an occasion when I just jumped off, holding onto the handle, during an earthquake panic, and it wasn't as pleasant as it sounds. 

           Yesterday, I was excited and my brain was abuzz. We were going shopping for silicon and epoxy and new protective gear and all kinds of fun stuff for my upcoming hobby. So I just sat there, trying to remember the choreography for getting down, while the brain failed to remember. It's when a sense of panic and being trapped sets in. I was almost in tears, waking up G, saying "I can't remember how to get off the bed."

            Ye. It was one of those moments. 

            I got to give it to G, he'll just grunt and whine and mumble from under the covers: Right leg on the first rung, right hand on the rail, lean back, lean left, slide, left hand finds the left edge, left leg touches the second rung, straighten and find balance.