Blame the Highlighter

Here is an example of how dumb smart people are:

All morning, I have been abnormally busy with unusually challenging activities. I've been leaning my left elbow on my desk, and furrowing my brow. Often times in this position, my hand comes up and my chin rests in my palm.
Like so. Good. Now you do it. Notice how you can smell your fingers because they're kind of bunched up under your nostrils.
Yes, exactly like that.
I've been smelling rubber all day. I've been asking myself, was I playing with balloons this morning? What was the dog chewing that I took away? Does Matrix Amplifying conditioner smell like rubber? Damn, I strangely like this smell. It can't be from condoms or tires or some kid-friendly playground material.

What the hell is making my fingers smell like rubber?

So I quit wondering for a minute and buried myself in this subsidy program that I have to:
A. Understand.
B. Present to others this afternoon so that they understand well enough to present it to a client tomorrow.

I was typing, typing, answered the phone, "This is Sarah."
Watched myself pick up a rubber band that I've been playing with all morning and realized exactly why my fingers smell like rubber.

Le duh.

In other, totally related news, I'm screwedola for my exam. My Big Plan is to stay up all night on Thursday and study. I mean...
not that I didn't study last night, because I totally did.
And I totally will again but ummm...
I know I'll pass and that's dangerous knowledge to have when there's a possibility that being cocky with regard to something like an exam will lead to an embarrassing failure.

So, I'll study and stuff. I'm so used to being babied by the resource-rich fields of Corporate American that one of the points I made to myself when I sat down to study was: "Ow. My hand hurts from writing out notes. I need to get a highlighter."

If I fail, I'll surely know why.
F-ing highlighter.

arizonasarah at 11:16 a.m.

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