The Size of a Banana

There are lots of Post-Its on my desk, covered with tiny writing probably only I can read.  The contents change over time, and occasionally one is the victim of drips from my mug, but the cycle is unbroken and there are always new things about which to remind myself.  Instead of a memory palace of distinctive objects in notable locations, I have a mental wall of notes I refer to -- remarks of utmost importance in large-ish letters with permanent marker, nagging to-dos in smeared, thin blue ink.  In some way, physically writing the words conjures their spiritual existence in the ether of my brain.

We all (mostly) carry around a "green brain" here, a small notebook (titled in classy cursive "Memoranda").  This is another repository for important random facts, instructions, and date ideas corresponding to boys I have crushes on Department of Defense project code numbers.  The page I most frequently consult is my cheat-sheet for how to run the Weekly Numbers report,* which you think I'd remember after doing it twenty times.

*The Weekly Numbers report consists of me pulling data to show how much cargo we processed and shipped to various destinations...by weight.  For some reason.  I guess logistically that's a significant parameter; unfortunately for me, the amount of paperwork for a five-pound box of potato chips is the same as a 500-pound pallet of seismographic equipment.  And these scientists not only eat lots of potato chips but enjoy packaging them in many separate boxes, each with its own subsequent documentation, labels, and tracking.

That mention of twenty might sound flippant or exaggerated, but in fact, next week -- my last week -- will be twenty-one.  After all this staring at tiny numbers, staying up way too late in the band room, seal close encounters, eating meat of questionable provenance, and so very many artfully-dodged unanswerable phone inquiries, I will float around New Zealand for several weeks.  Just me and my rucksack full of cheese.