Tree pollen

I have spent the morning wandering around the house looking for my brain. Hay fever season has arrived and my already tiny brain has shrunk down to the size of a BB. I am also fairly convinced that hay fever causes all of the wrinkles in your brain to smooth out and so my tiny brain instead of looking like a dried pea, more closely resembles said BB in that it is, I am fairly certain, smooth and shiny. A super slick surface that would be the envy of modern material science. Not even an idea can stick to it.

I have to go to work, but I fear that I will be a danger to myself and others. I have visions of myself lurking about the office like some tiny Frankenstein's monster, heading down to the village after having a bolt of lightning jolted through me. The faculty and staff will probably be showing up in my office before lunch with the torches and pitchforks, ready to perform their unpleasant but necessary duty of ridding the world of one more hideous menace.

I will let you know if Monkey winds up on top of our building, dressed in a lab coat, screaming,"They called me mad, MAD! But I'll show them, I'll show them all!" as flames pour out of the windows.