timprov a Peach Julius, and all of a sudden I smelled lydy. I knew it wasn't Lydy, but I wanted it to be, so I looked around to see if the person who smelled like Lydy also looked anything like Lydy.There was no one there. In another minute or so, the smell disappeared abruptly: dysosmia event.
It is absolutely not fair to have dysosmia events that come out like someone. I mean, I would rather have the store smell like Lydy than have Lydy smell like Store, but -- notfairnotfairnotfairstupidbrain.
Announcing that I want this to go away has not been all that effective, historically speaking. But it doesn't change the basic fact.
I have so thoroughly trained my brain to think stories that a license plate and the logo above it, combined, were enough to add an entire character and subplot to the space opera thing I'm picking at around the edges. The license plate said my cousin's name (approximately -- a compressed form) and a cube. It was not even a vanity plate. Just three letters, three numbers. And there she was. Kind of a mathematician space opera Musketeer. I would call her Mathos, but she's really more of a math-Aramis, and anyway her name is Ann.
Because of a license plate. Because that is what I have taught my brain to do. Some of it was natural. Most of it was not.
So I guess I won't trade it in -- my brain, I mean -- for the time being. Even if it is from Abby somebody.
