What’s that noise?

That? Oh, that’s the sound of the blood rushing through my head. It’s the heady feeling one gets when one suffers the realization that one doesn’t have the answer to one of the quiz questions before one.

At such moments are reputations hung. On such reasoned, seasoned extrapolative assessments do degrees depend. At such times are – nay – must be called upon the reconstructive skills of one’s distant past. In such frames of reference do we call to question our abilities as old farts to remember anything, let alone what we must.

I promise to put this tense to bed for good. Starting now.

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