I saw my brain today. And I don't mean in the metaphorical sense. Nor do I mean in the Pulp Fiction splayed-over-the-upholstery sense either, which is of course a rather good thing. I mean, I saw photographs of my brain, in all their Magnetic Resonance Imaged glory. I saw top views, side views, close-ups, wide-angles. I saw my esophagus, just like they show on the Pepto Bismal commercials. I saw my nasal passages, clearly indicating which nostril was stuffed that day. I saw my spinal cord. And I saw my big fat wrinkly brain.
The doctor, on the other hand, saw a tooth infection, so now I most likely have to go get drilled. (And I don't mean in the metaphorical sense, either.) But other than that, the doctor determined that my head was in good shape. So much for that brain tumor that my hypochondria is so dependent on.
I suppose I was so inspired by the sight of my brain that I came home and used it to crank out my entire conference paper. That's right, boys and girls. The whole thing. Well, minus the figures, tables, conclusion, references, and typesetting. But still. Prof wants a "draft", and a draft I've got.
Tomorrow I get my keyboard fixed. No more e-flat from hell. And maybe I'll finish the paper. And then? Well, then maybe me and ol' wrinkly can sit down and figure out the theory behind crosstalk code pruning.