Monday, July 5, 2010

flatline

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Normally, I write because there’s something on my mind; pressing, brooding, poky. The thoughts will set up camp in my subconscious, gathering allies and troops as the days go by, until eventually they’ve made a case – whereupon they present themselves to the forefront of my head, forcing me to get them out in writing before they take over. So I have a thought, the thought builds up, and then that thought processes itself onto the page. Once that thought is gone, another one is usually making its way into formation (and so on). This pattern works quite well… until it stops working.


The system fails when there’s too much going on at once to filter life correctly; those little workers in my head begin to throw punches, yell obnoxiously, practice sarcastic hand gestures, and loot the village storehouse. At this point, my brain will misfire (and my blog gets filled with random, funny-only-to-me bits of drivel) – dealing with the chaos and functioning at a sensible level are two things that do not go well together. The stillness you hear after the mob-mentality has quieted is not peace and quiet at all – the workers have simply gotten too tired to win the argument rightnow – so they settle instead on doing nothing. The union goes on strike and the workers set up camp in their barcaloungers; the only cerebral activity to be noted is that little white surrender flag you see waving in the corner on the expansive pile of rubble. If you listen hard enough, you will hear the sounds of palpable tension, shuffling card decks, and whisky induced slumber.

Currently, I’m experiencing Option B.

The amount of energy I’m currently able to muster allows me to blow puffs of air out the side of my mouth and nothing more. Oh, I can blink, too. I still have the energy for that.

What’s a girl to do with such a small amount of mental capacity (amidst ever increasing stress levels)? Smile nice for the camera. Say please. Laugh at all the right moments. Disregard the fuzzy hair and the dark circles that grace the mirror each morning. Disregard them again at each reflection-stop throughout the day. Resist the temptation to eat meals through a straw. Wear matching left and right shoes. Avoid ticking clocks and fake accents. Switch pillows. Sleep naked. Or at least, sleep. Or try to. Remove the heart from the sleeve; figure out what to do with it later. Practice acceptance speech for “Most Brilliant Actress of the Century” award. Show up to work on time. Accept free coffee drinks. Pray for more free coffee drinks. Cancel appointments. Swear at least once daily (bonus points: swear out loud). Evade direct eye contact. Popcorn for dinner (but only on occasion). Laugh maniacally as the to-do lists burn. Breathe in after breathing out. Find the damn pause button and press away! Flirt with Insanity, mislead Stability, disregard Apprehension… but be careful. Practice the art of retail therapy. Open the bag of cookies, devour, finish with milk. Live vicariously through former self. Bang the hell out of the lid on the pickle jar until it opens. Remain insatiably positive. Survive.
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2 comments:

anita said...

Yet you write such poetry...

Mama said...

I love reading your stuff. I haven't done it enough. It's awesome that you write so much. I hope to find it in myself to do something creative again.

You do, perhaps, need to slow down and take the time to take good care of yourself...

Love Mama ♥♥♥