I'VE REACHED that point in my life where I tend to forget things. Not really important things, like when to celebrate the birthday of the Truly Unpleasant Mrs. Johnston (continuously throughout the second week of June, just to be on the safe side) or somebody owes me money for writing an article.

But I forget new things that people tell me. If someone calls the house and asks to speak with Mrs. Johnston or one of the kids and that person isn't home, I forget to pass along the message when they ask: "Did anyone call?"

Maybe I forget when someone tells me something at work, and the next day they ask me about it, like if I did what they asked. I can only say, "Duh?"

I could go on listing hundreds of examples of things I forget, but I've forgotten them. I had them in mind when I decided to write this column. Then I sat down at my computer thingy and the examples slipped out of my mind. Some people would be concerned about this and think they had some horrible brain disease, but it doesn't worry me a bit. If I had something happening to my brain, I figure I wouldn't be able to remember that I couldn't remember certain things. But I can remember that I forgot something. The problem is that I just can't remember what I forgot.

Are you following me?

Good, because this is what I think is going on in my brain: I've got too much stuff up there already, and I ain't got no more room!

Do you remember back in high school, your biology teacher telling the class that you use only 10 percent of your brain and the rest of it goes to waste watching sitcoms on television? Basically what the teacher was saying is that you have 10 times more room in your noodle to store stuff than you are using.

In other words, you have enough room up there to remember all the presidents of the United States, all the elements on that chart in chemistry class and the entire batting order of the 1986 Mariners and still have room left over for your Social Security number and your mother's phone number.

But you know what? Between high school, when your brain was fairly new and pretty empty, and the time you get to be an old man like me, your brain gets filled up with stuff. I mean, there is so much stuff already rolling around in my noggin — names and numbers, the log-in for computers at home and work, names of people I live with — well, the list goes on. I can't squeeze anymore in without kicking out some little piece of information to make room.

After spending the time learning something, I don't want to part with it to learn something new. My mind is closed for business.

Oh yeah, there was one more thing I was going to say here at the end. But I forget what it was.

Steve Johnston is a retired Seattle Times reporter. His e-mail address is stevejonst@aol.com. Paul Schmid is a Seattle Times news artist.