"The Brain That Changes Itself"

Tuesday, February 10, 2009
7:23 pm Bloated.

I'm having bad luck with things leaking in bags.

It started just like any other lonely lunch at the internship. I hadn't had time to pack a lunch last night due to my being drunk due to the fact that BU won the Beanpot (See? Not my fault.), so I had purchased a salad and a few other things before hopping on the bus this morning. I was picking out the large kernels of black pepper that were ruining my perfectly good salad when I decided I wanted to read. I get an hour for lunch ("I mean, we're not paying you, so take an hour," said my boss one day), so after the first few days of having nothing to do but read Martha Stewart's blog, I decided to start bringing stuff to read to work.

I rooted around in my giant black bag and pulled out a tattered copy of "The Brain That Changes Itself." At one time, it had been a nice, new, clean book, but after The Great Hot Chocolate Spill of 2/3/09 it wasn't looking so good. I sat there, turning the pages of the book, wondering how I was going to tell my father I had ruined the book he'd let me borrow (...guess I just did) and thinking about The Spill. Everything had just been so WET. Wow, I could just feel the moisture in my hands as I thought about it.

Wait -- I could feel the moisture in my hands.

I dropped my book onto the desk and looked at the slime that was covering my finger tips. Frantic, I threw both my hands into my bag, looking for the source of the slime.

Everything was covered! Swearing under my breath, I threw the contents of my bag onto the floor, but I could not find the source. My lunch wasn't in the bag. Nothing had leaked. It didn't make sense. But a funky, fruity smell was tickling my nostrils as I sat there glaring at the bag, trying to wipe off the slime from my hands. It smelled like a - OH NO.

Fearing the very worst, I slowly unzipped the middle pocket of my bag - the pocket I never use, except that one time weeks ago when I had used it to hold a ...banana. Gagging silently and glancing over the cubicle at my neighbor, I grabbed a plastic bag and scooped out the dripping, blackened contents, tied the bag, and ran to the kitchen. I grabbed a roll of paper towels and sat on the floor of my cubicle, quietly trying to soak up the banana juices. The smell of rotten banana and old hot chocolate were creating an interesting odor. It was kind of good at first, but then not - like when you smell curry and realize its body odor. I finally had to give up when I started getting light headed.

Sitting at my desk, smelling like stale hot chocolate and moldy bananas, I looked at the book. The Brain That Changes Itself. It was mocking me. I had come to the realization while I was in Madrid that I am a forgetful, sometimes irresponsible person, but sometimes I forget that. And then little situations like this happen and remind me.

I would have liked to have pondered the irony of the book and the exploding rotten banana more, but I didn't really have time. Suddenly, I really had to go...

I ran into the bathroom and threw up.

Love,
Tara