Losing It

Yesterday I couldn't find my cell phone. I employed my often-used method in these increasingly common situations: backtracking. Filled water jug for dogs, put dog food in pail, went to the bathroom (oh please, don't let me have flushed it!!), put in contacts, got a pop.....and there was my cell phone, on the top shelf in the fridge. That's pretty bad, even for me. Call them senior moments or brain farts, they happen to me every day. ( See Hell's Kitchen last week.) Actually, I don't know if I have enough functioning brain cells to produce a cerebral fart.
Twice this week I tried to enter a car that I wasn't driving. In my defense, I was using a loaner car--but still. At the post office as I struggled with the key, I noticed a combination lock beneath the door that I didn't remember being there before. Just then a smiling young woman appeared and said I might have better luck with the right car. (Snot!) I did it again not two hours later in the parking lot at Fred's office, where there are only four other cars!
I regularly push my cart around store parking lots, convinced someone has stolen my car. Sometimes I find it, but other times I resort to pushing the horn button on the clicker.
I put important papers in "safe places" and forget what those places are. I still haven't found my current photo album since we moved five months ago. Fred's glasses got tossed in the garbage with the junk mail, and the keys I left on top of the truck are lying in a ditch somewhere. I've walked off several times with someone else's cart, lucky that no one has yet accused me of stealing a purse. Last fall I took a disposable camera over to the cabin to use up, and it has never been seen again. It had our pictures of the Harley 105th anniversary weekend on it, and we turned the cabin and outside area upside down--no luck. Of course, we didn't bother looking down the outhouse hole...I locked my keys in the house and had to break the kitchen window to get in....wrote a $518 check for the phone bill, which was actually the balance in the checkbook...have spent at least a year of my life going into rooms and then wondering why I'm there.
Is there a support group for this? If not, maybe I'll start one. "My name is Cheryl, and I'm here because...I forgot."