I’ve always had a pretty good relationship with my brain. It helps me imagine and write creative stuff, play musical instruments, understand what Morgan Freeman’s talking about in his science shows, and dream crazy, laughable things (I mean, a few nights ago I dreamed that I was trying to round up an escaped talking llama, for Pete’s sake). Without its pin-point noticing and listening skills I wouldn’t be able to appreciate the world around me, let alone wave enthusiastically and say hello to it. I’m grateful that it knows how to spell, is capable of the odd witticism, and has strange little quirks that enable me to tune into people’s emotions, see ghost cats and the like. Generally, it’s a happy little brain.
Only in the past six months or so, I’ve also noticed that it’s started being a bit of a dick.
Among other things, it seems to have taken great delight in disabling the ‘off’ button. I’m sure there was one, but now whenever it’s deprived of visual stimuli my brain tends to clear off on its own merry little path of randomness. For example, last night as soon as I closed my eyes to sleep it dredged up parts of conversations I’d had that day, a list of essentials for camping, and the Powerpuff Girls theme. Needless to say, I couldn’t care less if Bubbles is the joy and the laughter when all I want to do is get some decent kip, but it’s something my brain thinks is vital to know at two in the morning.
Then there’s Important Things. My brain thinks it’s hilarious to easily remember these right up until the point where I actually need them, and then to suddenly block that part of my memory off from conscious access. Sometimes, if it’s feeling particularly bastardly, it’ll give me a glimpse of the details I need and then snatch them away again. It would probably be sticking its tongue out at the same time, if it had one.
And don’t even get me started on why the heck it deems it necessary to dig at my self-confidence by analysing the crap out of everything.
I can put up with it for the most part because I’d much rather have an overactive brain than an empty one, and I’m very appreciative of that. And it does give me somewhere to escape to. In my imagination I can do anything and go anywhere, whereas in real life I’m really nothing special. It’s obviously working properly, and you know what they say: if it ain’t broke…
So, Brain, what gives?
Perhaps it’s just that it’s become too full of useless information gathered over the years? If it were a computer I’d be able to clean it up, hide all the naughty stuff, move things to storage and generally have a good tidy round. But I don’t think that’s going to work here, mainly because it’s in charge and a tad rebellious. However, I think I may be able to get the unruly sod calmed down with some meditation techniques, preferably some directed ones to keep it under control. Something for me to look into, right?
But ssshh, don’t tell my brain. It might just be keeping me distracted while it takes over the world.