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My fingers know I'm screwing up, e'en if
My eyes don't recognize the dumb mistakes
I've made while typing? I'll buy that as, stiff
Or nimble, fly my digits. My mind quakes
Whene'er I think of how those fingers know
What letter's where on QWERTY's dumb array,
How, just as long as they start on home row
They get it right (unless Mind finds a way
To interfere). I'm like the centipede
Of fables cognitive; please do not ask
How I can do this work when there's a need;
'Tis best that I have farmed out this dull task
To a more autonomic-type regime.
My brain's not always smartest; this I deem.

In Which The Aftermath Is Always Worse

The fun won't stop, not yet, and not because

The problem did, is past and gone and done.

It's still curled up and waiting for a pause

Within my busy-ness to pounce. It's one

Of many little quirks biology

Has left in us; still animals, we learn

More deeply through our crap recovery

Than through the instant when we took the burn.

It's psychic, though, what happened, so it's kept

Within my body far too long. I breathe

And tap as I'm supposed to, but I've wept

A lot. There's still a lot to do. I seethe

Resenting just a bit how I've been caught

In atavistic traps that chance hath wrought.

Tweet

In Which I Have A Proust Moment Of Sorts

The sound of bagpipes and the sight of plaid,
So vivid, and the taste of weak iced tea,
But why, on a plain Thursday? I have had
A tough time, just explaining what must be
A neuro-hiccough of some kind. Just now,
The revelation struck! A treasured friend
With whom I work has some way and somehow
Begun to smell just like another. When
I was a younger gal, Glen Glidden's home
Was quite a common destination for
My family. Once Glen and Dad did roam
The highways of a night and their rapport
Transcended how they made their livings. Sigh,
So nice to be reminded of that guy.

In Which I Ponder Cells As Their Own Entities

A single cell, we barely understand,

Says Brian Ford, and why is he not right?

We know what's up within but in the grand

External scheme, so little's come to light

Because that's not where we choose now to look.

Take neurons, he says, are they just a switch?

Is what goes on between them thought? I took

Some time, consid'ring this, and find it rich:

Somatic cells do what they must with no

Great micromanagement from human brains.

If just a liver cell works on its own

What wonders can one neuron entertain?

Reductionists miss out; let's learn some more

About whole cells and what they have in store!

In Which I Begin To Nod Off Earlier Than I Should

Computers screen a myoclonic jerk

Well from the view of supervising eyes

Were any here; it's Sunday here at work

And neurally I'm cut right down to size

(Ironic since I found a way to learn

Of all things brain and nervous system at

No cost to me - right here). I itch and burn,

Discomfort keeps me jumpy as a cat

And focus is a memory at best.

I don't regret what I did with the time

I "should have" slept, not when I'm truly blessed

With friends whose schedules are not quite the crime

'Gainst nature that mine seems on days like this.

A nine-to-five routine now sounds like bliss.

Sonnet Commission: In Which The Neurobiology Of Olfaction Is Considered

Each odorant has its own special touch,
'Gainst the olfact'ry epithelium.
Receptor proteins like them very much
And bind to each of them, just as they come
(Not picky 'bout which ligands, these; they'll take
To many kinds). Then neurons will transduce
The activation into zaps, which make
A trip to the olfact'ry bulb. Obtuse
As yet to what you're smelling, now,
The signals go up axons until at
The glomerulus, mitral cells choose how
(Or through what brain bit) you will know what that
Smell is: the piriform cortex does best,
But others may help, too, ere you may rest.