pass the lavosier.

If you've ever been around me for oh, say, five seconds to five minutes, you'll notice a couple of things.

One, I'm a klutz.

Two, I'm perpetually distracted.

I'm usually distracted by things that the majority of human beings don't care about anymore, like the philosophical ramifications of Newtonian physics, converting micrograms per kilogram per minute to milligrams per hour, and whether or not I can remember the first declension in Latin.

Today, I was walking the dog, and thinking about how if I didn't stop mentally debating which declension is my favorite, I'd be likely tobe hit by oncoming traffic or trip over the dog or run into a sign pole (don't laugh; I've done this before).

Suddenly, a Latin word floated into my mind: quidque, and then I started thinking about how fun this word is to say, and how nice it was to know this word (which you'll have to look up as quisque, because I gave the neuter form instead of the masculine form).

Of course, having random Dead Language Epiphanies do not help me be a better, kinder human being, avoid traffic accidents in which I become the mutilated unfortunate victim, or make large sums of money so I can retire early and spend the rest of my days declining irregular forms of Latin nouns while reading up on how to construct a geodesic dome.

But, it's hard sometimes to go back to the reality of work, where I can't sit and read funny Latin joke books--with English translations--like I did yesterday, or think continuously about Lavosier and Whitehead and fantasize about owning the Library of Congress, without have someone asking me to put them on the fucking bedpan, or whatever.

It's annoying to me that I spent all that time in school learning how to think on my own, and now, I'm rarely required to give my philosophical opinion on the job, and usually only paid to do (facio, facere, feci, factum) what other people tell me I should be doing.

It's also somewhat disconcerting to me that I'm no more physically coordinated at age thirty one than as a myopic pre-adolescent who ano one had figured out desperately needed glasses.

Not that seeing the streets clearly has kept me from running into them, but, I guess I still needed the glasses.