What do I obsess about?  What are the thoughts that rumble around my brain incessantly, intruding on the mundane affairs of daily life?  If these questions don’t themselves cause obsessions, I’m probably without any.  As a government employee by day (I have to eat and pay the bills) and a free lance writer and photographer the rest of the time, I have enough junk clattering around in my mind to keep a battalion of therapists busy for decades.But, that’s not really the point is it?  We’re talking about real obsession here.  We all have the detritus of daily living to deal with; and quite often pay these random firings of neurons no mind until they’re needed.  Am I rambling here?  I suppose I am, and that is what I obsess about.The thing that is always there, hovering in the background of my thoughts, like a vulture waiting for something to die, is the fear of losing focus; of having the mental edge dulled.  I worry, truly worry, that as I get older, I will lose intellectual capacity; that forgetting won’t just be a matter of having too much on my mind, but that I won’t be able to find things in my mind when I need them.We all slow a little, mentally and physically, as we age.  Keeping active can slow (pun intended) that process.  I know this intellectually, but deep down inside, I having this nagging fear that as I grow older, things just won’t work as well.  The instances of forgetfulness; like the time I left my office, went home to pack, and headed to the airport for a trip to Colombia, only to discover that I’d left my passport on the desk at the office; seem less the product of an overly busy mind, and more the inevitable result of just getting older.Sometimes, I lie awake at night, trying to remember if there was something important that I’d forgotten during the day.  The problem is, I never remember.This scares me.  I’ve always been in love with the written word, and the fear that someday my mind won’t be able to process the language; that I will lose the ability to manipulate words in a way that holds a reader’s interest, cause great angst.  My passion is writing.  My obsession; my fear; is losing the ability to indulge that passion.