Menogitated [men-awe-jshit-ated]; the condition of being in a lather.

Short-term memory loss has concomitant symptoms.  It has something to do with attention.  I think.

Or it's that there's a tendency to consider oneself as able and quick as ever in certain tasks with which one is familiar.  Like the nail-cutting incident a while back.  Like the opening of packets with scissors one has used for a number of light years.  Shame the thumb webbing was in the way.  Or like the attempts to move solid wooden furniture with one of the minor toes.  Pity the toes involved at each removals operation had not forewarned their wearer.

Insignificant stuff, then, is the source of damaged tranquillity.

Crone-hood is supposed to bring with it a level of Peace and Acceptance so that one's dotage can be stress free.  Vedanta provides practical, scientific methodology for application to the events of life such that Peace and Acceptance will carry one through life's ravages.  Trouble is Peace and Acceptance  are timid creatures.  They won't come unless you invite them often.

They won't stay even for one moment if you turn your back on them.

It is not that they are fickle.  Oh no. Rather, it's that YOU need to pay attention.  Constant awareness of what the hands are doing.  The toes too, for that matter.  Also the mind.

Now there's a fickle creature indeed.  Going off on it's own-some in all sorts of daft and incongruous directions.  Much of it inconsequential to the task being undertaken - and well adept at causing work stoppage due to following a track of total fantasy.  "What if….?  Why did…….?  When can……..?"  We all do it. Every single one of us.  Then the iron makes a greater than usual impression upon the cloth beneath it.

After each of these and many similar incidents, Peace and Acceptance go AWOL.  Menogitation enters.  It brings with it some air-colouring verbalising and air-swinging physicality.

These were absent throughout most of the preceding years of life so why have they appeared now?  This leads to self-questioning, self-anger.  "How could you do that?!  How could you say that?!" et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.  The lather rises.  There have been moments of near-drowning from the suds.

Yesterday brought one of those moments.  Having spent  five hours learning a new process and putting together what would be a very useful file, it got deleted. 

Yes, Dear Reader, you read that correctly.  Five hours of labour, obliterated.  Not intentionally, you will gather.  Now, the calm computer folks among you will be saying (as indeed yours truly did at first), "that's okay YAM, don't get wild, just go to the undo button and bring it back."  Sound advice in normal, on-the-desk operations.  This however was up there in the cloud.  That thing we are all going to be forced to deal with eventually no matter how hard we tuck in our wings.  The cloud, it seems, deems it unnecessary to -
A)double check and ask if you're sure you want to carry out hara-kiri and
B)provide a reincarnation operation for the just performed gut-cutting activity. 

Suds.  Many, many, many suds.  Cleopatra would have been overwhelmed.  Luckily the ashram is all but empty this week.  In space, they can't hear you scream.

To be fair, there's a degree of exaggeration in the above tract (what? Never!)   I think that, too, is a symptom of menogitation - or possibly of menosoup as a whole. 

The five hours was inclusive of the research involved in the 'how to -' and the 'deletion', it transpired, was actually a cancellation.  But still.  The REAL work was over 90 minutes of effort.  Therefore a "do you REALLY wish to cut your throat?" prompt at that point would have been appreciated.  A suggestions box might have been good too…  though maybe not whilst one was lathered up.

STOP PRESS; visit tomorrow for a tour of Mumbai!