So Many Passwords, So Little Brain in which to Store Them

It has come to my attention that we are using more passwords than ever, but the space in our brains isn't growing to accommodate them all.

I have passwords for my computer at home, my computer at work, and voice mail systems at each place. I use a password for online banking, to select Netflix movies, and to access a range of accounts from the power company to my credit card. I even have a password for making insurance premium payments online, something I do twice a year.

Why do I need a password to make insurance payments? If someone else wanted to pay my insurance premium, I wouldn't have a problem with that.

I don't think I should need a password to look up information about my gym membership, benefits at work, or the cat's microchip.

The only institution that hasn't made me use a password is my church, but I'm sure we're getting closer to collection plates with keypads on them, a safeguard from tithing hackers.

And how are we supposed to remember them all? If I don't use a password very often, I forget what it is. When I need it I have to click on the "forgot password" link and have yet another one emailed to me. Of course, to get the email, I need, you guessed it, a password.

Passwords are also getting harder to remember because they come with so many requirements. In some cases, you must use a combination of capital letters and small letters, a mixture of letters and numbers, and/or symbols that aren't letters or numbers. God forbid they make any sense so you can remember them. To ensure security, don't use the name of a family member, a city, a pet's name, or your birthday. And for God's sake, don't write them down because a crook might steal them.

It's worse when the password is assigned to you. Our new wifi came with a password that has approximately 27 random letters and numbers. I guess the neighbors won't be piggybacking for free on our internet.

Meanwhile, the worst finally happened. I walked up to an ATM machine and inserted my card. The screen prompted me for a PIN number. I reached for the key pad and my hand froze. I drew a complete blank. To save my life, I couldn't remember that number, one I've been using for years. Nothing.

Like the hard drive on an old, overloaded computer, my brain had crashed.

I didn't get any cash that day. I didn't even get my ATM card back because the machine wouldn't release it without a password. But my account was safe, gosh darn it.