Live dangerously: ignore instinct, intuition

Nature gives us some tools to keep ourselves safe, the most sophisticated and comprehensive being our (well, some people's, anyway) ability to think. Mother Nature, knowing our predisposition for learned stupidity and choosing NOT to think, also built in some "fail-safes" to override the thinking module when there is insufficient time to commence thinking... or, in my case, when thinking is turned completely off. A couple of nice backups are instinct and intuition.

Instinct and intuition give us a nagging foreboding and those butterflies in our stomachs that prompt us to think twice every now and again. I usually have thinking, intuition and instinct all set to manual, frequently forgetting to turn them back on. This leaves me functioning with a system adequate for most single-cell life forms: impulse.

One morning last week I sort of woke up, showered and dressed for work. I imagine the background dialogue while I was thinking about getting to the county office building went something like this.

Instinct: "Wear sensible shoes."

Intuition: "You may find yourself doing a lot of walking today."

Impulse, grabbing a pair of sandals, told instinct and intuition to shut their pie-holes: "I have sneakers in the trunk."

I got in the car, and the trio was at it again.

Instinct: "Stop and get some fruit."

Intuition: "You're going to get hungry, and you don't know how long that board of supervisors meeting is going to be."

Impulse, not liking to be late: "I don't have time."

Stomach, not to be outdone: "GGGGGGgggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrooowwwwwwwllllll."

The trio compromised on a fast-food sandwich. The first conscious thought I had all day was that I might throw up. I looked at the bag away and tucked it away, hoping stomach would forget and commenced heading toward Wampsville.

About four miles outside of Cazenovia, which isn't the middle of nowhere but might be pretty darned close, I heard a snap and a thump from under my car.

Instinct: "Uh-oh."

Intuition: "I told you so."

Impulse: "Shut the hell up, all of you."

I watch out my side- and rearview mirrors. Nothing. Okay. I must have hit a small branch or rock in the road. I didn't see anything fall off. Then I looked down. Rut-roh.

As I watched in horror, my temperature gauge shot up and my voltmeter plummeted. Pulling over sounded like a good idea, but I didn't have any power steering and as an added bonus, my brakes went, too. I knew exactly what had happened. Stupid serpentine belt.

Instinct: "Uh-oh."

Intuition: "I told you so."

Impulse: "I thought I told you all to shut up."

I fought the two-ton beast to the side of the road, about two inches to the right of the white line. Stupid car.

I popped the hood and peered inside. Yup. Lots of shiny, exposed pulleys met my gaze. I thought about walking back to look for the belt, maybe even walking home, then I looked at my feet. Stupid sandals.

I set my thinking module to 'on.'

I have a cell phone. I have a child with a license and a car who's just dying to wake up and rescue her mom.

Stomach: "GGGGGgrrrrroooowwwllll."

I thought Impulse had told them all to shut up, but I gagged down the sandwich. Stupid stomach.

I settled down with a book to wait for the cavalry, which would be along presently, and regretted my parting words to the Lenox Town Supervisor the night before:

"Rocky, I'll see you in the morning."

Instinct: "Stupid girl reporter."

Intuition: "I know what HE'S thinking: 'Yeah, right.'"

Stupid instinct and intuition.

Reprinted courtesy Eagle Newspapers, Syracuse, New York.