Gimme some wine

I've lost my mind.

No, really, for really REAL I've lost my mind. Sometimes, when I'm having less than stellar days, Tim threatens to dig through my boxes of memorabilia downstairs to find my "alleged" Master's degree, as there really is very little chance a woman as flighty as I could have earned one. Let me assure you, it is in a box in the basement, though if I had to find the box, well, I think you might guess what would happen. I'd triumphantly pop open a box to find newspaper clippings from the 1998 Husker season, most likely.

Okay, but now, back to three reasons to laugh at me. Are you ready?

The other day I was drooling over these Pottery Barn Valances (I've since decided they were lame because they aren't wide enough for my windows and clearly, if they weren't designed with me in mind, they MUST suck). So I was on the phone with a friend at the time and I told her I'd send her the link (so that, of course, as women must do, we could drool together, then pick it apart and decide against the purchase of said valances). I pulled up my e-mail, cut and pasted the link, and sent it off. She replied quickly with a very short response, so, as we were still on the phone, I launched into "Aren't those great?" She, of course, had no idea what I was talking about. And my friend of the same name who'd received a random e-mail titled "these" with a link inside ALSO didn't know what I was talking about. Meanwhile, I couldn't understand why, after looking, and responding, my phone-friend was perplexed.

And look, folks, it took like 30-60 seconds for me to fully process this. Then it took 24 hours to get over my embarrassment as this is not the first time it's happened to me. Let's just say if I could Hot Tub Time Machine myself into the 70s, I'd tell mothers of Amys and Kristins to reconsider their decisions, for, of course, one day the flighty friends of multiple Amys and Kristins will screw up.

That's funny. I know. But you want one better? Further proof that this baby is eating my brain?

Yesterday morning, I told my sister to call me. Then I didn't understand why she didn't call. Then I couldn't understand why I couldn't find my cell phone. Then I called my cell phone and couldn't find it.

Then I made the bed. You'll never guess what I found. . . that's right, my cell phone. Inside my pillow case. Please don't ask why. I'm not sure I have a good answer other than "It's a perfect night light and I don't keep a clock by the bed." And that's lame.

But even MORE lame? Last night, as I was getting ready for bed, I began looking for my cell phone, because, of COURSE, I needed it (see night light/clock excuse). I scoured the house. Every room. Finally, I resorted to calling it. And I heard it. And it was loud.

It was right behind me. So I turned around and couldn't find it. But it was right behind me. So I turned around again and couldn't find it. I heard that dang cell phone in every room I entered as I looked for it. And, of course, since it goes to voicemail after 4 rings, I had to call it.

Four times.

Before I realized it was in my back pocket.

Folks, I have no earthly idea how I'm going to stand in front of a classroom in two weeks with ANY sort of feeling of authority. I MIGHT have to go all Empowered Education/Paulo Freire inspired and tell my students to stand on their desks, because they are in charge of their own education, simply as a cover for the fact that my brain no longer processes much more than sleep. eat. keep children from sticking forks in electrical outlets. eat again.

I TOLD my students last spring that babies eat your brain. I had no idea how right I was.