Brain Misfires

My mind is frightening sometimes.

Last Sunday, while sitting in the main service, I suddenly had the urge to try to name all of the characters on the show “Roseanne.” I don't know why. I got almost everybody but could not remember the name of the oldest daughter. I could remember the actresses who played her, I could remember everyone else’s names, but I could not for the life of me remember that character’s name. Finally, about 45 minutes later, I remembered her name while sitting in traffic. I’m sure the people sitting next to me thought I was having a seizure or something as I did a happy dance after having my “Eureka!” moment.

Then today, I was staring at my monitor at work & then looked down at my hand. This reminded me of an episode of “Little House on the Prairie”, in which a black man is falsely accused of locking someone in the ice cellar or throwing them down a well or pinching Mrs. Olsen’s bustle or something. Anyway, they have a trial & are ready to run him out of town when Pa Ingalls points out the man is missing his ring finger (hehe…”points out”…”missing…finger”. Get it? "Finger." "Point." Dontcha...? Ah, whatever.). You see, the whole case was based on one piece of evidence: a handprint left on a wall at the scene of the crime. Why nobody tried holding his hand up to the print on the wall in the first place, I do not know.

Yes, readers, I know, I need a new hobby.

Or professional help.

One of the two.