This is long, rambling, incoherent, and probably not very interesting, but writing it is more fun than working on tomorrow’s lectures.
My friend and her mother had this running gag that came from a foreign language class. In the unit on “Going to the Store” there was repetitive exercise that went like, “This melon is not good. May I have another one?” “This apple is not good. May I have another one?” “This carton of milk is not good. May I have another one?” The two of them were always cracking each other up by dropping this into casual conversation with different items that needed replacing. “This weather report is not good. May I have another one?” “This man is not good. May I have another one?” And so on. I adopted the practice, also. Came in handy when we needed a little mental break while studying. “This calculator is not good. May I have another one?” And, as in the title, “This brain is not good. May I have another one?”
So today has left me feeling that my brain is not good, and I want another one.
This morning I got into the car. I had a new insurace card with me and it had to go into the glove compartment. I was putting my bookbag into the back seat. The frost on the windows was thick, and I was already trying to figure out where I put the scraper. It was also sunny out, and I was putting on my sunglasses.
Now, I’m a creature of habit and ritual. I do a vast amount of everday stuff on autopilot with no conscious thought whatsoever. Including taking my glasses case out of my purse, swapping my glasses for sunglasses, and putting the case back in the purse. I do this without thinking one or two times a day. But this time I had to mess it up, by thinking. I was thinking, “Gee, I’m trying to do a whole bunch of things at once. I’d better make sure to put my glasses case back in my purse, or I might misplace them!”
So, guess what happened. I got to my office, and of course without thinking, reached into my purse to get my glasses case. And of course it was not there. Goddamnit. So I carefully searched my purse. I checked all the pockets in my parka. I went through my bookbag for good measure.
I schlepped back out to the car and searched for the glasses. I looked on the seats. I looked on the floor.
No luck.
I carefully retraced my steps. I remembered putting on my sunglasses. I remembered thinking that I should remember to put them into my purse. And I don’t remember what happened after that. It’s like they popped out of existence, as far as my brain was concerned. Stupid brain.
I schlepped back to my office and searched my purse, my bookbag, and my pockets again. I also looked all over my desk and on the floor, even though I knew that I was reaching into my purse the moment I entered the office and hadn’t had time to take them out.
At that point I remembered that I’d brought my insurance card out to the car. I remebered putting it into the glove compartment. Did I put my glasses in the glove compartment? I never keep them there. Then again, more than once I’ve found the remote control in the refrigerator. I schlepped back out to the car. This time I opened the passenger side door, and rifled through the glove compartment. Checked the seats again. Searched the floor again. Under the seats. Between the seats and the center console. Nothing.
I resigned myself to calling my husband to have him check the driveway. I must have dropped them in the driveway. Oh dear God, what if I’d put them on the roof of the car? I stood up, and in doing so, noticed that my glasses case had fallen down between the passenger’s seat and the door. I must have tossed them onto the passenger’s seat and not been paying attention or . . . aiming . . . or anything.
Whew. So I had my glasses.
But my day continued in the same vein. I entered grades this morning. Entering grades is always a delight. You can’t fix a grade once it’s entered in the system. If you make a mistake, the paperwork to fix it is a royal pain in the butt. And I just find grading stressful. I always feel bad when I enter a bad grade, even when I know that the student is a total slacker, and I’m always terrified that a student will come to me to complain that they have a B+ instead of an A- and I’ll discover that I made a stupid mistake in everybody’s grade and . . . and . . . and . . .
Well, anyway, I entered all the grades, and then double checked them for each class. Amazingly enough, I didn’t make any mistakes! If there’s one thing this brain is good at, it appears to be entering grades accuarately. I had five different sections to enter. I finished the fifth section, double checked it, stretched, had a sip of coffee, patted myself on the back for a job well done . . .
. . . then closed the window instead of hitting “Submit.”
Damnit damnit damnit damnit!!!
So this brain is obviously defective. I can’t believe how shoddy neurological worksmanship is today. I demand that my brain be replaced by a working model, immediately!
