Even keel

My keel is more even now after a chat with my editor and a good night's sleep. Nothing particularly encouraging from editor other than confirmation that my worst fears were simple paranoia.

I'm trying to read for fun today -- We Need to Talk About Kevin -- but am having less than great luck because my mind is jumping from place to place -- the sick boy sleeping on my couch, the mounting pile of laundry in the basement (now that my second draft is done my wife finally cashed in one of her coupons for a week away from the hamper), interesting questions from students about potassium and Alzheimer's disease and, last but not least, what to make for dinner now that we've had to cancel our social soiree due to said ailing son's big cough and fever.

I know it's temporary, but these lapses in my ability to concentrate always make me wonder if this is what it is like when age slows down mentation. I imagine that those vast numbers of neurons that I used to be able to band together to chant in unison until the solution to some difficult problem emerges are now spaced a little further apart and have to shout at each other across extracellular space. I see them leaning in towards one another, wrinkly little dendritic hands cupped around droopy synaptic spines, saying "Eh? Come again?"