Brain Rust

Was watching a show in which someone tossed out, sarcastically, the term “brain trust”. And all I could think was, drop that, cos my brain’s used so little these days, it is rusting. Everything I do is so auto pilot these days. I’m running a default program, little intelligence required, just basic muscle memory.

It’s because I’ve not written fiction soup in a year. It’s killing me slowly. My brain is rotting inside my skull and for once, it has nothing to do with the fucked up chemicals. I NEED to exercise my brain. Hell, I’d even settle for being able to read for more than ten minute increments, just let me use my damned brain. Wait….whaaat’s that sound…Oh, yeah, that’s my brain corroding and rotting inside my skull.

I am not sure if I went hypomanic last night or if I was just in a good place, but I was awake til 5 a.m. Not doing much of importance, yet also not ready to give up “happy medium” time. And when I decided I HAD to try to sleep…scumbag brain kicked and screamed and swirled. My kid woke up so she was all yappy, that didn’t help me calm down. I refused to take a sleeping pill, absolutely refused. I did, around 4:30 take .25mg xanax, just to slow my brain. Suffice it to say, I eventually slept but the alarms went off way too damn early.

One more cool wet gray day. This is like five in a row. The damp cold has settled in my bones, I can’t seem to get warm unless enveloped in blankets. The weather report ALLEGES it will be warmer and sunnier tomorrow. I will believe it when I see it. I really need to take my outdoor Halloween stuff down (Yeah, I’m a month late, fuck it) and the yard needs raked…I finally get caught up inside for the most part and now the outdoors stuff rears its putrid head. Blarg. MY kid asked if I’d put up some Christmas lights. I don’t have any outdoor outlets and I am not running a cord out the window, so she’s gonna have to live with some garland strung up out there. And hopefully I can my santa hat skull door knocked, that always brings me a smile. I can’t even fathom the tree thing right now, we have limited space and I have limited give a damn about this holiday shit.

Call me Grinchzilla.

Haven’t done much since I dropped her off except…well, I’d say “piddle about” but that sort of sounds like a puppy peeing on the rug. I am watching The Def Leppard story. Yeah, I was gonna do that last night but….

My idiotic dad and crew let my kid drink pop so when she got home she spent ninety minutes moaning with gas pain from the carbonation. Everyone thinks my ban on soda for her is some caffeine or sugar thing but frankly, if it hurts her, I am against it. And I’ve had to cut my own intake back cos the carbonation hurts my stomach. So she moaned and groaned and when I asked her why she drank pop when she knows it hurts her tummy…and she said, “I didn’t want to be rude and say no when they gave it to me.”

That age old bullshit, same shit R pulls me with me. “Oh, Niki won’t eat supreme pizza, she’s so picky.” No, Niki won’t eat food with peppers and end up in gastric agony and chained to the bathroom for two days. Not picky, not impolite. If it hurts…don’t fucking do it, jackasses.

So what was truly amazing about last night was…I not only blew up my own box, I set the ashes on fire. For so long I have been immersed in true crime shows, my funny bone MIA. I decided for a change to try a comedy, one of my old faves. Scrubs. It felt awkward at first. Depressed people can’t laugh, right? As it happens, we can. And normally, I max out at two episodes of comedy. I watched ten back to back episodes of Scrubs and was reminded why I always liked it so much. (Dr Cox is my favorite.) Kinda like Ally McBeal and the over the top dramatizations in the character’s head. (Her getting dumped by a guy and being shown getting dumped, literally, into a dumpster, was accurate and hysterical.)

So my funny bone is making a comeback. I’m not gonna do any cartwheels cos I could just be on a hypomanic kick after the weeks of being sick and cramped and all. It could be illusion. Respite. But…under all the darkness and “what future” bleakness…I am in there somewhere, still.

Which does not mean throw a parade for me ( I WILL rain on it and blow up the fucking floats out of meanness) or use words like “happy” or “doing good”.  Because the jury is still out and I am still just bobbleheading above water here. I’m a day or so removed from curling under the covers at 8p.m. completely demoralized and beaten down.

But…Dishes are done. All laundry is caught up and put away. Cat boxes are clean. Fridge is full of food. Life isn’t that damned bad. I really loathe that aspect of the depression, taking molehills and turning them into insurmountable mountains. Except even that is a misrepresentation because some days…there are no molehills, only a misfiring brain sending you mirages of every reason life isn’t worth living.

I am still not sure life is worth living.

What the hell. I’ll hang around just to see what happens next.

With any luck..Nothing will happen. Nothing is always good.

Now maybe I need to run to the store and buy a bottle of Coke and try to pour it into my ear, maybe it will eat away some of that brain rust.

 

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12 Responses to “Brain Rust”

  1. Fancy dark chocolate bars on the way.

  2. Hoping for nothing to happen so you can enjoy this mid state of (____). I’m going through shark week. Currently howling from my bed in agony.

    • I will definitely reroute Fergus and the chocolate shipment sent my way right to your door. You need it way more than I do for all those happy brain chemicals it supposedly releases to kill pain and lift mood.

      There was some sort of instruction to share a spanking with Fergus, or maybe it was share the chocolate…Meh, details.

      On Mon, Nov 30, 2015 at 3:13 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

      >

  3. ‘Scrubs’ loved that show. Now I’m into ‘Bob’s Burgers’. I actually LOL!

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