Sometimes, my brain is like a runaway train.
Not the little namby-pamby one you see in some theme parks where it pretends to be out of control, and children squeal. No, in that one, you know you’re on a track that will take you safely back from whence you came. Instead, my brain is like an old, rickety locomotive carrying a full, heavy load of worries, fears and thoughts that have no apparent reason for existing and cannot be explained.
This locomotive uncontrollably plummets down the side of the mountain, scooping up wayward cattle in its cowcatcher or busting through landslides that have covered the rails.
Nonstop
on a maniacal mission.
Lurching and bumping and veering around corners at breakneck speed.
Any attempt at slowing down, let alone breaking, is ineffectual and a waste of time.
No distraction works.
As it turns out, the thing to do is to wait it out. To go with the momentum. Follow gravity without fighting. Trying not to get dizzy from the inability to focus on the landscape. Until I get to the bottom of the mountain
where I move from perpendicular to horizontal.
The train loses speed gradually until it comes to a complete stop, and I arrive at a resolution or at least an acceptance of sorts.
And I get off not too bad for wear.
Tag: #musings
From Another Planet
Some days I feel temporary.
Like I’m just a visitor from another planet. Just here until the Mother Ship comes and takes me home.
And I think, “I have so much to do in such a small amount of time”. Spending more time making a list of all the important things that need to be done before I go.
Just to lose the list.
Or a holographic image. Seeming lifelike and tangible from a distance, but the closer you get, you see the fragility of my existence.
An image without substance.
On other days I feel sturdy and rooted and permanent. Absorbing information. Dendrites growing. Emitting my learning and my expertise. Building something of importance. Strong and sturdy for those who need to use me for support or for reference, or for ingenuity. Creating stories, strengthening relationships.
Contributing more than just carbon dioxide.
Neither feeling upsets or confuses me. I merely note the incongruity between the two and wonder what I will feel tomorrow and if anyone ever feels the same.
But most days, I feel as though I just think too much about how I feel.
And I’m tempted to be “sexist” and blame it on my gender.
Or “Freudian” and blame it on my upbringing.
Or “Catholic” and blame it on an examination of conscience.
And I realize that there is no one or nothing to blame.
Ink And Spine 