The Wasting of the Mind

Short work week, even shorter memory. I sat down to write a quick post so as not to take up too much time before we all gear up for Ametuer night aka New Year’s Eve and promptly forgot what the heck I was supposed to write about.

It took me a moment and then it came to me: remembering stuff.

Don’t worry, I’m not giving anyone hints. I’m not sure I’m qualified as I don’t remember where I put those external memory units  called sticky notes.

Today I’m specifically talking about remembering passwords. You know what I’m talking about. Everything you do on a computer requires a password. And while there are some that I don’t care if the computer remembers it for me; there are others I prefer to keep top secret (so my kids don’t go nuts on ebay and order stuff from far, far away).

Then there are the others where you don’t have a choice. Take work for example. There you don’t have a choice. Your password cannot be stored but must be entered every time the thing locks you out. And forgetting you password involves the call of shame to the IT department where you know they’re keeping a tally or possibly a spreadsheet complete with 8×10 color graph printouts and a paragraph on the back (Tribute to Alice’s Restaurant).

So during the two days I have to work this week, smooshed in between two five day vacation/holiday breaks, I got the news I had been chosen to create a new password. Maybe it was the eggnog or the sugar cookie high but I kinda stared at the screen hoping it would go away. Then I made my first attempt to enter a new password.

Yep, the things didn’t match.

So I got to try again. I went simpler this time but the requirements hinder putting in 123456. I had to think of something clever that involved a capital letter, a lowercase letter, a number and a symbol. Okay, I have a college degree and a gilt thingie on it saying I graduated Magna Cum Laude, I should be able to master it.

And I did. The second time, then I wrote it down on an external memory unit that was neatly tucked into a safe spot. Hopefully after tomorrow I will have remembered what it was, if not where I put it. Then on my first full week back to work, I will eat the sticky note and make security happy:-). I’m pretty sure egg nog will make it go down smoothly.

About Linda Andrews

Linda Andrews lives with her husband and three children in Phoenix, Arizona. When she announced to her family that her paranormal romance was to be published, her sister pronounce: "What else would she write? She’s never been normal." All kidding aside, writing has become a surprising passion. So just how did a scientist start to write paranormal romances? What other option is there when you’re married to romantic man and live in a haunted house? If you’ve enjoyed her stories or want to share your own paranormal experience feel free to email the author at She’d love to hear from you.
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2 Responses to The Wasting of the Mind

  1. danrshaw says:

    Think all that’s bad try fogetting you password to a government site. If you submit a request to replace it they have to mail you a new one and then once it comes you immediatly have to change it to something else. (this actually happened on my Military Retired pay account)
    At home I use a memory stick with roboform installed on it to remember all my un/pw and once every month I print the info out incase my memory stick goes bad. I know you can’t do that for work though.

    Our New Years eve celebration has tone down as we have gotten older. IF one of use is awake we will turn on the TV to watch the ball crop (after waking the other one up) and then go back to sleep afterwards.

  2. My husband writes his down but they don’t always work:-). And some of those are government sites. I merely work for the government. I have begun following a password pattern but I don’t always follow it which is the source of my woes and I don’t always change all of them at once which would help a lot.

    I think I’ve seen the ball drop about 2 times in my lifetime. I am so not a night person. Hubby gives me my kiss when he slides into bed. It’s just not worth getting up.

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