The absent-minded un-professor and other signs of a fried brain

I seem (knock on wood) to have left behind the portion of the quarter during which I keep losing things, only to exchange it for the portion of the quarter in which I fall over or bump into things (sometimes without even noticing or remembering). My collection of bruises is getting impressive enough that I'm wondering whether I might as well go play a game of paintball or try to get hired as an extra for a "Lifetime" made-for-TV movie.

If the truck were road-worthy, I'm pretty sure I would have forgotten to fill the gas tank, run out of fuel altogether, and had to hike to the nearest station with the plastic gas can I keep in the back for that purpose.

I went to the drug store tonight after a half-day on campus and bought the latest issues of this, this, and this, as well as a bottle of this and one of these. I decided things weren't quite bad enough to justify buying the latest issue of Vogue, especially because I was unusually repelled by the Keira-Knightley-as-undead-Dorothy-Gale photo essay. But when I'm buying magazines because I can't bring myself to read even the front matter for one of the dozen books I just picked up at the library and I devolve into wanting to have pouty lips and smell like a cookie . . . well, I think that's a sign that things have gone plenty far enough, thank you.

It's a good thing the holiday is coming up in a couple of days.