You go to bed certain that you are going to die.
(Of course you're going to die. Everyone is going to die.)
You know this, but it feels very close for some odd reason. Is this a premonition? Should you be scared? You think about death. You think hard about death, and come to the conclusion that you're not afraid to die, but you still have a lot of work left to do, and you pray that God won't take you until you've cleared the decks at least a little bit.
The night passes, and you don't die.
You wake up, very much alive, but unable to remember your phone number. You roll over, hear your bones settle into a new position, and concentrate on your phone number. It distresses you, this forgetting, and you think about growing old.
You think about losing your mind.
You wonder if the days will pass by unnoticed, day after day, until you are no longer young, but, in fact, very very old. You wonder if the day will come that you turn the stove on to make tea, then wander outside, forgetting that the stove is on or where exactly it is that you live. You wonder if you will forget who the Gingerbread Man is.
You wonder if you will forget who you are.