pregnancy brain.

let's get this clear: no, i am not pregnant. not even close. well, maybe i'm close because just look at that man, would you? only kidding. anyways, last time i wrote a fake-out i'm pregnant post  (...where i so plainly said that i was not pregnant), people evidently didn't read till the end? i kept getting congratulated by jeff's friends and even had to endure a stomach graze. yes. a stomach graze. there is actually nothing worse than having your stomach rubbed right after lunch-time. or, any time for that matter.

but at the same time, am i? one of my coworkers was talking about pregnancy brain. how she somehow thought that she caught some mild case of it even though she is not pregnant. as she was giving her thoughts + theories why she thought she had it, i kept agreeing (...silently, i have to maintain some semblance of dignity at my work, jeesh! stuffing people into wedding dresses is serious business for the utmost intelligent).

i keep forgetting things ...YES! and misplacing them ...YES! and i make up weird smells in my mind and am convinced that they are real. my bedroom smells like an asian fish market ...okay, no...you should probably get that checked out?

let's dive into this diagnosis further, shall we?

symptom 1: (...let's pretend this is how doctors do it, yes?)

tuesday the 18th of february, around 5 p.m. : i had to clear up some intramural fees and was at the student offices with my credit card in hand and five minutes to spare. i was in a rush! i handed the man my card and told him my student i.d. number as i casually carried on a conversation about cross-dressing middle aged men. the usual. i was in the middle of the kicker and was making large and pronounced hand motions when he interrupted me.

"...umm, ma'am. this isn't working. will you repeat your student i.d. number again?"

"oh, of course intramural office man! i will do just that! and i am not in a hurry or mad at all about this hold-up! it is 5...1...5..." (as you can see, i am really kind to people serving me. it's whatever...) i continued to tell him the number and jumped right back into my story. "so, anyways, cross-dressers..."

he stopped me again. interrupting my stories is kind of like jumping into a double-dutch jump rope game. you have to time it p e r f e c t l y or else you'll mess it up and everyone will be annoyed.

"okay, i am so, so sorry. could you repeat it again?"

"yep. no problem. not in a hurry! 5...1...5...let's talk about me, now? so, when i was fifteen, i finally got breasts..."

"ma'am. i am so sorry. maybe just one more time?"

"here! let me write it down for you!" (*scribbling paper furiously and huffing back into my story with less enthusiasm only to be interrupted five seconds later...*)

"...ma'am. this is not even an i.d. number in the system. and by the looks of it, i think that's your social security number?"

oh. yes. that. i had never remembered it before then! so...small feats?

symptom 2: 

monday the 25th of february, around 9 p.m.: i play on a city-league team over in lindon. mostly i contribute nothing, if you were wondering. also, if you were wondering, city-league trumps intramural basketball. the fury! half of the players on the other teams have a slew of children that tag along to the games and, let me tell you, mama rage! so much pent up annoyance that is let out on the court! child not latching? throw a bow! youngest teething and getting no sleep? punch a girl out!

...apparently i am making some sort of advertisement for city-league? no matter.

anyways, we have an email group where we remind each other of games and other some such things. our captain, blake, emailed + emailed again that our first tournament game was the 25th and that we needed everyone. i confirmed and expressed my excitement and...didn't show up. i thought the game was tuesday and had been looking at a june calendar? oops.

symptom 3:

sunday the 3rd of march, around 3 p.m.: yesterday i was taking someone's engagements and kept on forgetting the boy's name! brett? brent? brad? buckley? i was calling him everything.

"k, carrissa. lean your head on br...a...o...i...d...on his head."

it got awful creative.

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you agree, no? i have to be pregnant...or just getting decreasingly worse. have i ever told you that i misspelled my name up until i was fourteen years old? yep. we were mourning over the loss of my grandfather and i noticed that my grandma's name was spelled a little funny on the headstone. 

"so it's not spelled b-a-r-a-b-a-r-a?"

...my poor children.

also am i flirting with you all and just playing up the ditzy girl act? perhaps, perhaps.