If Justin were kidnapped by Martians, I would have to build a spaceship and go rescue him quickly. I couldn't let on I was piloting the ship, or he'd choose to stay with his captors. I'd be a silent hero and get him back to safety. Well, you know what they say about conditionals with false premises. It's the thought that counts.

Totals since May:

Justin concerts: Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies.
Wax museums: 2 (I can count that high.)
FLW buildings: 4 maybe
Flight schedule changes: 6?
Car lamps burnt: 5
Police encounters: 2
Police tickets: $200 + insurance damage pending
Reece's Peanut Butter Cups consumed: countless
Hours fixing hair: 3-4-ish
Hairdos destroyed before concert: all
Pantyhose run: See #1 above
Shoes lost: 1
Clothing bummed off luna: 4
Dorks made of self: as the grains of sand

Hey, I"m the one with the single engram -- or have you taken over my mind?!

No. That wasn't a couple seconds. It was more like a split second. I'm slow this morning.

Good answer.

That was cool. Thanks. I love any kind of wave tech. I get excited and think, "I've got to pursue this," but when I get off work for the night, I can't wait to put my face in the pillow. Shame on me.

We spelled it "engram," but I never took anything higher than 400-level psychology. As the basic unit of thought, the concept should still have universal application.

Actually, the lady across the street had a stroke. With the boss going to and from the hospital, and her in there in dire straits with no family except her disabled husband, I've been spread thin. Oh, yes, and then sleep. Glorious sleep! Are my priorities misplaced?

I don't know what to do with Sydney. Thanks for your concern. Remember, yes means no and no means yes except when he wants it to be the other way, so anything I do is another "manifestation." Justin probably deals with hundreds of these cases every day. Maybe not. One would have to be schizo not to fall for Justin.

We dealt a lot with it in a course on the physiology of thought. Somebody said the prof reminded her of a Ghost Buster, but I don't know which one. I was very flattered that he asked if he could keep a copy of my term paper on Penfield Wilder.

I'm a sucker for flattery. When the poor lady was oozing juice all over her face and blathering like an imbecile, one of the few things she could say was my name. How could I turn my back on that? I love to be useful and try to be helpful. The problem is, it usually all hits at once, and then it's back to another boring six months.

I don't do doctors. I just told the boss as long as I don't have a diagnosis, I'm not diabetic. REECE'S. FEED ME.

But, Doctor, can you give me some free advice on how to join the human race? Like how to be smart enough that somebody might think I actually took a high-school level course? What am I missing? I did so well on all my tests. Professionals are unable to diagnose the problem. They take their $200 a week and laugh and say, "You're not learning disabled," or they give me this and that diagnosis. I've told you that before. I don't expect to ever be as smart, talented, wonderful, etc. as the other folks on this board, but I would like to, you know, think and contribute on occasion.

lunazure said

Big "hit the print button" there.

I thought CTRL-P was the purview of the Fed.

Tanks and what the heck were you doing taking neurophysiology?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/O.....dendroglia

You are so right. How dare I! Dumbos like me didn't even belong in college. I should have demanded those paying my way to take back their scholarships and confer them on somebody worthy to enroll. It is not only bad that I took general education requirements in high school, for which I get yelled at if I try to share anything I learned there that might be helpful; it was a crime against humanity for somebody as dumb and crazy as me to take psychology courses. After all the help you've given me through the years to try to get over my obsession with Justin, I remain smitten. Perhaps the rock of ultimate psychology has met the hard place of my head.

I was so fascinated I had to go back for a second scoop of peanut butter (why adulterate it with chocolate?)

Do you know how expensive a can of Jiff is at the all-night gas station? You can get King-Size Reece's at 2/$3. I'll do my penance when I find the time.

I hope she recovered, poor lady.

Recovery is expected to take month if not years. Perhaps you have some pointers?

You should go study nursing! Maybe you'll find a foxy doctor who likes music too... everyone I talk to who is in the nursing program cries about the math.... shoot you'd breeze through it! It's interesting, I still might go take more courses. I'm about half way through the syllabus.

I pass out too easily. I had to grab a spot on the floor when they intubated my neighbor. I hate that feeling of losing blood in the brain, so I don't wait to be the damsel in distress. I pass myself out, hit the deck, put the feet up. I try to be a low-maintenance ditz.

It's embarrassing when professors form an attachment to you because you're the only one paying attention in class.

That struck another nerve. I admit to being stupid, crazy, and ugly; but I dare say my ugliness trumps the former two. I attended college in an era when it was unethical for teachers and students to forge attachments. The paper had nothing to do with what he said other than a few paragraphs. Remember, this was a simple undergraduate course. We weren't like grad students having to kiss up and all. And, yes, the Wilder experiments had me wanting to pass out. It was an inner struggle of satisfying my quest to understand with the horrific, nauseating feeling I get when confronted with things under the skin.