Scientists tell us that the make-believe games of small children are vital for normal psychological development. When children pretend to be something they're not, it prepares them to be grown-ups who pretend to be something they’re not; like the guy who has a chrome-plated skull-and-cross-bones and airbrushed flames on his scooter.

Does he really believe that a biker gang will take him seriously on a 250cc Vespa? No matter how many times he watches Easy Rider on DVD the chrome on his scooter won’t make him a biker any more than a pair of scrubs makes someone a doctor. The chrome is just a grown-up version of playing pretend.

He’s like the rest of us; we all think we can fool most of the people most of the time.

Once you realize that everybody is playing make-believe all the time, it’s easy to spot the pretenders..

My sons are both skilled sleepers and I envy them. When they snooze -- which is often -- they throw themselves into the embrace of slumber with the same abandon that Billy Bob Thornton throws himself into marriage. Except they tend to sleep longer than Billy Bob stays married.

They are the only people I know that sleep intensely. Their enthusiasm for unconsciousness makes them easy marks for sleep, which is happy to reach out and drag them down.

For me, sleep is a timid little critter which must be enticed and snared and which is likely to turn and run at the slightest provocation.

Really.......

The pioneers had a hard life. They had to deal with floods, fires, famines, and even the occasional wild animal. On the other hand, they didn't have to worry about "Modern Conveniences."

I spend about three hours a day dealing with the problems created by my convenient, high-tech appliances. It starts the minute I get up and put breakfast in the microwave. In the good old, pre-microwave days, I wouldn't have even dared attempt a hot breakfast. I can only make eggs two ways--black or blacker. (Black is my favorite, it matches my toast.)

The microwave seduces me, though. It says, "I know you can cook in me. Any idiot can cook with a microwave. Just open the freezer and take out a package of 'Bright and Chipper' low-cholesterol, imitation eggs with strips of real-meat bacon. Two minutes and you're done."

Even though I know better, I'm convinced that this time I'll get it right. I peel off the plastic wrap, put the cardboard tray in the microwave, press the buttons and read the headlines while I wait. The microwave beeps politely to tell me it's done. I take out the tray and discover that my food has become one with the tray. In fact, except for a couple of vaguely bacon-shaped lumps, the tray looks completely empty......

The subject of today's essay is ... ummm ... bear with me ... I have some notes here somewhere ... just let me ... no, not there ... maybe over here? Nope, that's a recipe for Haggis; must remember to try that someday. I need to add sheep's stomach to my shopping list which is right here under this library book ... I wonder what the fine comes to after two decades?

I'm not disorganized. That would imply that at some point I was organized and things had just gotten away from me. You know, like when a politician or celebrity appears tearfully on television to explain that their latest DUI/affair/physical-assault-on-a-press-photographer was completely out of character and came as the result of stress.

No. I'm completely, chaotically, consistently organizationally challenged. When I'm installing new software and the computer has a blank for "Organization" I enter "Who, me?".....