I used to be smart. Not rocket scientist smart, but not the dimmest bulb in the chandelier, either. But given a choice between studying prime number theory or reading about zombie holocausts, I lately seem to opt for spending time with shambling, walking moaning dead.
Maybe I was exposed to too many fumes from old fashioned model glue when I was a kid - I wonder if my parents ever questioned how quiet I was as I put together Zeros, Wildcats, and Mustangs? Or were they just glad I was quiet.
Maybe the mercury I used to play with on my desk in my bedroom, extracted from a broken thermometer I accidentally purposely broke and the pirated from my 10th grade chemistry class play a role in my diminished capabilities?
Maybe the seven or eight diagnosed and undiagnosed concussions play a factor? Beside getting hit in the head of the sledge hammer, I flipped off a second story porch and landed on my pumpkin, got cold cocked walking out of a bar in New Orleans, played football for 8 years, and did any number of stupid and silly things that rang my brain-bell a bit too loudly.
Another possibility -- which is more chilling, frankly -- is that I'm not dumber as I get older. Could it be that that I'm the still reasonably bright guy I was years ago, but that I like -- prefer -- reading Zombie fiction? Is it possible that, while I find prime number theory fascinating, I get more emotional satisfaction reading about dead people eating living people, who become dead people, who then try to eat yet other living people? What's up with that?
But here's my cold-hearted self-reflection for the day. Prime number theory is spinach. Zombies are buffalo chicken wings. I eat spinach 'cause it's good for me. I eat wings because I love them.
I suppose it's also possible that I'm just dummer and like crap that's basically bad for me...