I’d like to take a holiday away from my brain

Brains are wonderful things. Even though some people survive quite happily without them. They are so useful. Not just for the difficult things like doing exams and getting software to work and figuring out the plot to Memento and putting together flat pack furniture. Brains are there to help you enjoy chocolate and to appreciate art and to remember not to repeat yourself and to enjoy chocolate.

I have a brain and I’m not afraid to use it. Sometimes twice a day. There may be a Doctor of Brains reading this so let me make it plain that I think a brain is a rather good thing. Being a Doctor of Brains, she will be quite positive about the usefulness of a brain and (quite rightly) distraught that someone might think there might, just might, be a down side to the whole having-a-brain thing. Let me be clear. Brain good. No brain not so good. I just wish… I just wish I could turn it down a bit.

My brain does have a tendency to career off on its own sometimes. Like a puppy in a field. And sometimes I need it to be quiet. Like a poppy in a field.

A good portion of my brain is dedicated to worrying. And I do mean dedicated. Starts early, finishes late, does overtime. The works. There’s a constant churning and processing of events and memories and possibilities and it’s all crunched through the mill of my brain and it all comes out as an aggrevation of frets. Aggrevation being the collective noun for a number of frets. Of course.

I worry that my worrying will make me ill. Come to think of it, it does. Because it makes me depressed. My brain is built for worry.

Roger Hargreaves, noted philosopher and author, expressed the conundrum of worry in his work Mr Worry whereby our hero, the eponymous Mr Worry worries about everything, including whether it will rain and whether it will not. Even when Mr Worry has nothing to worry about, he worries about not having anything to worry about. Such is the life of a worrier.

Perhaps there are people who do not worry. They skip through life without a care. They frolic in the Garden Of The Unworrisome. Life is good and tomorrow will bring good things… if they think about tomorrow at all, that is. Which they probably don’t. And in between me and the people who do not worry are the normal people who worry a bit. I don’t aspire to be totally without worry but it would be nice to worry a bit. Instead of all the time.

Maybe it’s meditation I need. But you can imagine the problem. I try to centre my inner being. But my inner being is frantically pedalling a tricycle through the Windmills Of My Mind. I try to still myself, calm waters and all that, but my brain has taken its shoes and socks off and is splashing in the waves. The odd thing is that very little of this frantic activity in my brain is translated into action. You would think I would be a buzzy, get-up-and-go person. But all of this franticness resides in my brain and rarely gets out. As a teenager, my father would liken me to a sloth as regards my general mobility and, as I have matured, I have managed to slow right down over the years to almost a complete halt.

It would be nice to put my brain on pause for even just a little while. Have a bit of slothfulness on the inside and maybe some zippy action on the outside. I could live with that. But is it all hard-wired? I am thinking that a lot of my brain is read-only. The read-and-write bit of my brain is reserved for Things I Have To Get From The Shop. Indeed, the read-and-write bit is all too ready to be overwritten so that by the time I get to the shop, the list in my brain has been overwritten by thoughts on the plot to Memento. Whereas the hard-wired read-only bit, at least as I perceive it, controls what I am like as a person. And what I am like as a person is hyperactive – in thought not in deed. Which probably explains my list of To Do items that never, ever, get done. And all of my great ideas and projects and stuff that never actually gets finished.

But perhaps I should take things one step at a time. A brain is a fairly complex thing, you know. Just ask our friend the Doctor of Brains. I’d still want the breathing. Breathing is good. I can’t get rid of all my brainly functions. In fact, it’s just the manic over-processing of thoughts that I need a rest from. Or, from which I need a rest. See? My thought processes won’t even let me get away with ending a sentence with a proposition.

First things first then. At the moment I have an ear infection. It sounds like there is a very high-pitched squeal inside my ear. All the time. I’d be quite happy to take a holiday away from my ear right now. The Doctor of Ears has prescribed ear drops, of which I am partaking – oh those propositions never sound right whichever way round you put them. I hope they work soon. Once that is cleared up, I can go to the Doctor of Brains who can prescribe some brain drops.

Ah, peace.


4 Comments to “I’d like to take a holiday away from my brain”

  1. My brain hurts too, at the moment. Felt like it was going to explode earlier. Depression? Yes, it’s visiting my brain, as we speak.

    • Ah. Depression. An unwelcome visitor at any time. Has someone ever said to you: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”? In which case, did you punch them and say: “There, you’re stronger now”. Hang in there Mister G.

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