A whole October without an entry. After politely setting aside its complete indifference, what will posterity say? Anyway, the seas have calmed somewhat. Whether a Jewish iconoclast is out there with his hands over the water or a high pressure system is sitting off the coast, I’m re-entering a frame of mind where I can afford to think about bull-shit again. A luxury, to be sure.

But what to discuss? Almost every few days there’s been an event teeming with blog-tential, but I haven’t had the presence of mind to capitalize on it or even to set it aside for later analysis. Well, to prevent any muscle pulls, let’s stick to something simple and, if you’re a long-time reader, maybe even familiar.

As of late, my propensity to reminisce/wax nostalgic has been out of control. I will be diligently reading for class, pretending to marvel at the intricacies of G-protein signaling, but actually thinking about sex, when I become “unstuck in time”₁. With no perceptible stimulus, I’ll be vividly transported for a few seconds to a mundane situation from my deep past, such as a bus ride in elementary school when I was not forced to bribe other children with candy for a place to sit. I’ve experienced these little time-jaunts for a few years, but generally when I’m relaxed to the brink of coma. Now it’s happening all the time, and on the rare occasion when I am relaxed, they become almost rapid-fire.

I know you’re excited. First there were the playful introductory paragraphs, then the introduction of the theme, and now’s the part where I try to figure out the source of this phenomenon. (You can put your guard down, Catholicism; you’re off the hook this time.) Actually, this one’s easy. It looks like this. Good ‘ol psychopharmaceuticals. Not exactly grandma’s cough syrup, but a lot easier on my liver, wallet, and roommate.

Hmmm…(tap tap tap)...That was over kind of fast. Well, maybe next time there’ll be more substance. But don’t pressure me.

₁ K. Vonnegut