Showing posts with label warped brain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label warped brain. Show all posts
1/31/12
Broken Springs
It was a gorgeous springy day today weather-wise, but…
I seemed to be having a broken springs/tainted strings mish mash associated with my brain.
I’ve recently gotten on a friend of mine’s case a few times about too frequently using the word “broken” to describe himself/his brain, but my brain sure felt broken earlier today.
It was a tough morning for me in terms of a number of easy little things being overly difficult. I used to be detail oriented and good at remembering things in advance, but now I’m not good at remembering details – so if anyone expects me to quickly get something done at the last minute (without finding out about it, remembering it, and planning for it in advance), chances are I might have a stressed out little explosion – and unfortunately, they’ll be stuck in the middle of my explosive devises too. Not that those explosive devises will be lashing out at THEM, mind you – but they’ll sure hear me lashing out at myself and calling my brain inept and screwed up and disappointing.
Trying to quickly get something done at the last minute (without advance notice and planning in advance time) stresses my brain into shredded threads that don’t like themselves, don’t appreciate themselves, and focus too much on their weaknesses instead of their strengths.
This morning, I got all stressed out because at the last minute I was attempting to fill out a piece of paperwork that should have been easy, but wasn’t – because I can’t remember my dog’s age, his date or month of birth, what vet appointments/treatments he might need, nor where the heck I put the past paperwork that might offer me such information. I used to be good at all of that stuff (as well as other forms of organization); now I am not. I certainly don’t want my dog to suffer from a too-early demise due to my disabled brain strands.
Then from their I got to thinking about how frequently I seem to lose things ‘cuz I can’t remember where the heck I put them when I was attempting to organize them (from my calculator to my assortment of googly eyes that I wanted to use for making some homemade Valentine cards to much more). Then I got upset (not at HER; at ME) when my little niece stepped into my art room and blurted out that it was the messiest room she’s ever seen – which is probably because I’m frequently having to unpack boxes in order to try to find things AND some boxes I don’t even bother unpacking/organizing into a particular space in the first place, ‘cuz then I’ll soon forget where I put those.
It seems like every time I make a substantial and time-consuming effort to organize my space, I then forget the details of my organization by the next day – and I don’t want to have a messy, unorganized space – but I also don’t want to have a neat, organized space that involves unpacking multiple boxes and searching for things on a frequent basis. Both ways cause me to feel bothered and troubled by my seemingly inept brain.
In case you think I’m exaggerating about my broke strings and mutilated brain waves, consider this. I’ve now been living in my newish space for more than seven months and I still haven’t memorized my address. I have it written down and have to look at that piece of writing every time I need to write it down somewhere else.
I know I need to focus on the positive not the negative, but sometimes (like this morning), I have an episode where it really bothers me that I used to have strong memorization skills and be a fast-moving individual; but now I’m more of a slow-moving, unorganized mess, whose brain sometimes can’t remember easy things yet is frequently popping out all kinds of random things and weird things and big bizarre words.
On the plus side, at least I can use some of those big bizarre words as part of my poetry content – and that’s definitely a pretty awesome plus side, as far as I’m concerned. In fact, in mere minutes, I shall post a positive, poetry-oriented blog entry above this negative little spurt.
I seemed to be having a broken springs/tainted strings mish mash associated with my brain.
I’ve recently gotten on a friend of mine’s case a few times about too frequently using the word “broken” to describe himself/his brain, but my brain sure felt broken earlier today.
It was a tough morning for me in terms of a number of easy little things being overly difficult. I used to be detail oriented and good at remembering things in advance, but now I’m not good at remembering details – so if anyone expects me to quickly get something done at the last minute (without finding out about it, remembering it, and planning for it in advance), chances are I might have a stressed out little explosion – and unfortunately, they’ll be stuck in the middle of my explosive devises too. Not that those explosive devises will be lashing out at THEM, mind you – but they’ll sure hear me lashing out at myself and calling my brain inept and screwed up and disappointing.
Trying to quickly get something done at the last minute (without advance notice and planning in advance time) stresses my brain into shredded threads that don’t like themselves, don’t appreciate themselves, and focus too much on their weaknesses instead of their strengths.
This morning, I got all stressed out because at the last minute I was attempting to fill out a piece of paperwork that should have been easy, but wasn’t – because I can’t remember my dog’s age, his date or month of birth, what vet appointments/treatments he might need, nor where the heck I put the past paperwork that might offer me such information. I used to be good at all of that stuff (as well as other forms of organization); now I am not. I certainly don’t want my dog to suffer from a too-early demise due to my disabled brain strands.
Then from their I got to thinking about how frequently I seem to lose things ‘cuz I can’t remember where the heck I put them when I was attempting to organize them (from my calculator to my assortment of googly eyes that I wanted to use for making some homemade Valentine cards to much more). Then I got upset (not at HER; at ME) when my little niece stepped into my art room and blurted out that it was the messiest room she’s ever seen – which is probably because I’m frequently having to unpack boxes in order to try to find things AND some boxes I don’t even bother unpacking/organizing into a particular space in the first place, ‘cuz then I’ll soon forget where I put those.
It seems like every time I make a substantial and time-consuming effort to organize my space, I then forget the details of my organization by the next day – and I don’t want to have a messy, unorganized space – but I also don’t want to have a neat, organized space that involves unpacking multiple boxes and searching for things on a frequent basis. Both ways cause me to feel bothered and troubled by my seemingly inept brain.
In case you think I’m exaggerating about my broke strings and mutilated brain waves, consider this. I’ve now been living in my newish space for more than seven months and I still haven’t memorized my address. I have it written down and have to look at that piece of writing every time I need to write it down somewhere else.
I know I need to focus on the positive not the negative, but sometimes (like this morning), I have an episode where it really bothers me that I used to have strong memorization skills and be a fast-moving individual; but now I’m more of a slow-moving, unorganized mess, whose brain sometimes can’t remember easy things yet is frequently popping out all kinds of random things and weird things and big bizarre words.
On the plus side, at least I can use some of those big bizarre words as part of my poetry content – and that’s definitely a pretty awesome plus side, as far as I’m concerned. In fact, in mere minutes, I shall post a positive, poetry-oriented blog entry above this negative little spurt.
6/21/09
surgery
I had an awful little dream last night, in which I had to perform some sort of surgery upon my Boston Terrier. I had to use an implement that looked like a large pizza cutter to make an incision around the perimeter of his body, beginning at the white underside of his throat and then all the way around, along each of his sides towards the back and under his tail. I dreamed two consecutive variations of this same dream.
In both versions, Sockeye was not anesthetized, but neither was he squirming or squealing. I was just holding him in place as I cut and he was just looking at me with a fearful yet trusting, baleful expression, one of the most excruciating details of the dream. In the first variation, I performed the cutting procedure correctly.
In the second variation, I botched it, cutting into the wrong area of his body. I then proceeded to act casual, as if nothing amiss had happened, even though I was secretly aware that my bungled surgery might cost my dog his life. Even as he continued to balefully gaze at me, I failed to react swiftly to my own mistake, acting as if I pretended it hadn't happened, then this reality might not exist. It was disturbing and I wonder what this dream is saying about my real life.
I also wonder if this dream was at least partly catalyzed by my inexplicable failure to open a can of tuna fish correctly the other night. I spent at least five minutes and two can openers in my struggle with this can, thinking that my can opener was bent out of shape, then thinking that the can itself was somehow warped, before I solicited the assistance of my husband, who promptly informed me that my difficulty was due to the fact I had been trying to open the bottom of the can rather than the top. Then he asked me if I thougtht I should get a brain scan.
What do you think?
In both versions, Sockeye was not anesthetized, but neither was he squirming or squealing. I was just holding him in place as I cut and he was just looking at me with a fearful yet trusting, baleful expression, one of the most excruciating details of the dream. In the first variation, I performed the cutting procedure correctly.
In the second variation, I botched it, cutting into the wrong area of his body. I then proceeded to act casual, as if nothing amiss had happened, even though I was secretly aware that my bungled surgery might cost my dog his life. Even as he continued to balefully gaze at me, I failed to react swiftly to my own mistake, acting as if I pretended it hadn't happened, then this reality might not exist. It was disturbing and I wonder what this dream is saying about my real life.
I also wonder if this dream was at least partly catalyzed by my inexplicable failure to open a can of tuna fish correctly the other night. I spent at least five minutes and two can openers in my struggle with this can, thinking that my can opener was bent out of shape, then thinking that the can itself was somehow warped, before I solicited the assistance of my husband, who promptly informed me that my difficulty was due to the fact I had been trying to open the bottom of the can rather than the top. Then he asked me if I thougtht I should get a brain scan.
What do you think?
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