Sometimes I am possessed by the Marx Brothers

Now, I don't want to sound paranoid, but does anyone else out there ever get the feeling they're possessed? Every couple of weeks, I SWEAR I am channelling the Marx Brothers - all of them! [If you don't know who the Marx Brothers are, take my advice and rent, buy or steal A Night at the Opera, A Day at the Races or Duck Soup. This has been a public service announcement. We now return you to our regularly scheduled blather.]

Take today, for example. I was heading out to a meeting downtown. Boots, coat and gloves go on smoothly and I picked up my purse and briefcase (one of those soft ones with a shoulder strap). So far so good. As I'm heading to the elevator, I stumble - on perfectly flat industrial carpet! - and my purse and briefcase fly off my shoulder. No biggie, these things happen, right?

So, I pick up my purse first and sling it over my shoulder, then bend down to pick up my briefcase. Bang - my purse is on the floor again. So I pick it up again, and this time wedge it behind my arm as I once again move in on the case. I manage to pick it up, but somehow my arm gets tangled in the strap and I end up dropping it again. Followed a moment later by - you guessed it - the purse.

Since by this time I've clued in that Groucho, Chico and Harpo have dropped by - again! - I now approach my accessories cautiously. First the purse - easy does it, with a firm grip on the straps at all times. Then the briefcase - this time, I decide to hold it by its handles ... less scope for mischief that way ... and creep slowly and carefully to the elevator.

While waiting for the elevator to arrive, I put down the briefcase so I can get my keys out of my purse. The purse zipper sticks, naturally, so I have to wrestle it open, and then dig around in the several dimensions accessable through this particular bag (and you thought the Tardis was impressive!) in order to find my car keys. Of course, they've become tangled in the spiral notebook that I aways keep handy and must be coaxed free through a combination of swearing, pleading and judicious violence.

And as soon as they're untangled - yup - I dropped 'em. So, there I am standing by the elevator doors in full winter kit, with an open purse dangling off my arm, a slightly mangled spiral notebook in one hand, a set of keys resting on one foot and a soft brown leather briefcase squatting moodily next to the other. Oh, yeah, and a meeting downtown in less than 15 minutes.

So, I did what I usually do in situations like these (sadly, this is not a unique experience for me). I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and banged my head against a wall. Sometimes I find it helps to shake things up a bit inside.

And the meeting ... it was cancelled.