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Time becomes so precious when dealing with PD. I've learned the hard way what the ramification of not managing my time can be. I've learned, for instance, that after grocery-shopping (while I'm still "on"), I open all the milk cartons, take all twist-ties off any packages, remove cheese or sliced meat from their packages and put them in easier-to-open containers. If I don't do these things, I end up practicing what I lovingly refer to as my "PD-Weight-Loss program". The premise is simple: When I'm too "off" to open food or beverage containers, hunger is no longer a priority. Mornings become a "chomping at the bit" type of experience as I wait for my Eldepryl/Sinemet combo to kick in so that I can take a bath or shower and get dressed. Trying to force the medicine to kick in is futile and trying to move reminds me much of the Tim Conway character in the old Carol Burnett shows; everything occurs in extreme slow-motion. But after a day of struggling with on/off periods, KB&Z (keys, buttons, and zippers), the only thing left is to get ready for bed. Easy, right? All my belts (both of them) have the familiar worn place where I fasten it. But, every now and then, I start my day with that extra "I'm feeling slimmer, think I'll go that one extra hole in my belt" feeling. This never posed a problem till one day when I waited till almost 11 PM to get undressed. This one extra hole in my belt became the "I can't believe this is happening to me" moment of the month. There was not enough dopamine roaming around my body to grasp the belt with either hand. Even if I could have grasped the belt, I simply didn't have enough strength to pull it tighter in order to release the little metal piece from the hole. I reviewed my options frantically and saw them as follows: 1) Dial 9-1-1 and ask them to send someone to cut me out of my belt 2) Wake up my landlord and ask him to help his 6'-4" tenant get his belt undone 3) Sleep in my pants None of these options looked appealing to me. However, PD helps us all be problem-solvers (neurological detectives and/or adventurers) and a small, fizzling dopamine-starved light-bulb appeared over my head (OK, it could have been a Sinemet-induced hallucination). I opened the door to my apartment and stuck the loose end of my belt between the door and the door-frame and then shut the door. With the belt held in place by the closed door, I leaned way back until I felt the belt tighten even more (by this time, I could swear that I was never gonna have kids!) and finally release. Problem solved! This was just yet another example of poor planning on my part but also an example of PD-fueled ingenuity when faced with the seemingly impossible challenge. I hope I never lose this type of creative problem-solving. If I do, I'm done for. -David Boots