Usually, I have a title before I even write the blog. Or at least a topic, a concept…a blueprint to trace as I compose and weave the words into a tapestry that makes sense (or nothing at all such as how the future of this particular entry looks). Maybe. Maybe not.

I’m randomly shooting blanks right now and you can perhaps blame it on the caffeine withdrawal (for attempting to stop drinking coffee for the bazillion-gazillionth time — that is if you don’t consider sucking on a piece of dark chocolate as a slow shot of caffeine for now).

I’m starting to show signs of brainlessness even at work. It’s not the first time that our Quality Control Scientist called me for my usual scientifically-minded opinion (because I do take job excellence seriously at times) and I got back with a totally jaw-dropping DUH-esque response (hey at least I responded!). One time, he asked me what color the capsule was for purposes of scientific description and journalizing and instead of the expected “cream-colored capsule or softgel” answer or something like “light shade of yellow with dark specks possibly due to oxidation”, I smarty-pantsy quipped, “uhm….khaki?” He walked away smiling (but I thought I saw a spark of Eureka moment-ish look in his eyes while holding the petri dish …aaaah khaki capsule it is!). The doctor who popped his head to eavesdrop in my cube laughed so hard in a very entertained yet totally non-condescending way. And so it seemed that I came across as a huge smart a$$ making a big sarcastic joke on their level — ONLY…really, “khaki” was all I could think of at that moment, because the capsule’s shade matched the exact color of the sleeves of my work jacket. Plus, it seemed like a far better alternative to my first choice which was “light sauteed mushroom”. (Gosh, what’s happening to my brain cells? I’m watching way too much HGTV and Food Network).

Then, since I have long managed to cross over the boundary and jump into geeksvilleness, swimming along with the sarcastic jokes shared within it, I could come up with the world’s dumbest answers and still seem like I’m just making a big casual joke out of the matter (even if, seriously, that’s all I can manage to say). Today, the scientist made a presentation on the current status of an oil-based softgel that had some issues. We investigated, inspected and analyzed the properties, and when it was time to discuss the scent of the oil that seeped through the product, I just said, “well, it reminds me of my grandmother’s old sewing machine.” And he bought it again. Seemingly understanding that I had meant “mild solvent-like fumes”… and/or “similar to the scent of lubrication oil of an internal combustion engine”…uhm, Singer? Valvoline? That’s taking it too far.

Suffice it to say, my brain cells have been short-firing lately, and getting so comfortable with affective rather than intellectual endeavors. That’s why I enjoy acting dumb sometimes—pretending to be someone smart who’s acting dumb, that way you won’t be able to tell the difference. Most especially in an intellectually charged scenario when all my brain could pull off is reveling and basking in the nostalgic smell of my grandmother’s old Singer sewing machine (Ahhh, I miss you, Lola…aaaahhh good ol’ memories of warm childhood summer afternoons, barefooted and sitting on the floor in the corner of her room by the narrow secret door…seeing the orange sun rays spill through the huge capiz windows and unto the wide wooden floor planks in long and stretched out rectangular patterns, hearing the floors creak in a very soothing way, smelling the ancestral dust of the old house, while almost being lulled to sleep with the steady drone of that sewing machine as the maid pedals away and alters Lola’s linens —- chu-chug-chu-chug-chu-chug…almost like a far-away train that never approaches).
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. That’s the scent sticking to my fingers now, and I’m keeping it!

~2011~