I am doing what no one should ever attempt which is eating a pomegranate at my desk. In order to not splatter one's entire cubicle with very sticky, very squirty, very stainey pomegranate juice this requires performing total dissection in the kitchenette beforehand. I did that with the first half of the fruit, but now I am feeling lazy and also: I can't get up to take care of this elsewhere. I need to pull this fruit apart, right here and now. Then I am my mother, watching and warning, "You should stop now. That's not going to work out for you." And I am a seven year-old, too engrossed/determined to quit, plus experimenting with defiance. I know this is perilous and I don't want the mom to see me still going for it, so to shorten the duration of risk, I hurry. But one bit is difficult to get apart and in struggling with it- oh no! A smattering. Then I am the mother saying, "See there," and cleaning up after. But, the thing is, my mom never did this kind of thing. She's never been an I-told-you-so-er; whose mother am I channeling? Is that the kind of mother I'm going to be? I'm seven years old and obstinate, and I'm my own future-parenting-style-I-hope-I -don't-really-wind-up-going-in-for mother to myself. I am the world's least fun unsolveable logic problem.