The Bitch Slap: Just…Shut Up
You can’t be quiet for a single second, can you?
Blah-blah-blah all the damn time. You’re like a Speak-and-Spell that’s stuck on Speak with the string snapped in two.
Seriously? You can’t take a single moment to shut the hell up and leave me alone?
Yeah, Brain. I’m talking to you. You’re getting Bitch Slapped.
I’m incessantly guilty of Busy Brain. It rarely shuts off and if I give it an inch, it’ll take a yard. A few weeks ago, I started doing hot yoga. Part of the so-called allure of said practice is the ability to tune-in and (ahem) quiet Brain down and connect to whatever convoluted Humble Tree Swan Dive pose you’re asked to assume. Well, it’s pretty difficult to tune into a pose when all you can think about is not tipping over and you’re looking around the room in sheer awe of the exact posture the other eleven people have achieved with their left foot.
I fill my days and I tell Brain it’s HIS responsibility (yeah, my Freudian triumvirate is distinctly “dude”) to deal. He assumes his responsibility with prowess, but not a whole helluva lot of efficiency. Ya see – he never stops. He’s always dealing.
And here’s the thing: Brain needs to take a vacation. The little fucker has eight weeks of paid vacay on the books and hasn’t seemed to take a single day. Is your Brain the same way?
I’ve had to come up with ideas to outsmart Brain – beat him at his own game. Because honestly, I can’t understand why the guy won’t go to a movie or grab a drink with the guys on occasion. He’s a clingy little bastard and I really would like it if he’d leave me alone every now and then.
I can think things to death – it’s times like those where the writing comes in handy. Dumping Brain onto the page seems to help (yet inevitably gets me thinking about other things).
How do you deal with Brain?
Every Bitch Slap in this series begins with ME and my experiences. This week, I’m wondering if you’ll join me in Operation Get Brain the Fuck Out of Town.
I’m getting better at leaving my shit at the door when I walk into yoga, but I need to get better at socking my shit away during other times in the day. I’ve never really understood why I can spend so much time toiling over something or other but less time cleaning my damned office. Is toiling really so much more enjoyable than producing tangible results? My office is screaming for a maid and I’m somewhere screwing around with Brain worrying about something or other.
It’s time to send Brain to Tahiti. Tell him (or her – whichever yours might be) to pack it up and move it out. You need your sleep, your YOU time. And wouldn’t it be delightful to spend that YOU time doing something other than standing by as Brain does his workaholic thing?
Consider yourself slapped, Brain. I’m onto your bullshit and buying you a season pass to Six Flags. You need to get out of the house and leave me alone every now and then. And between you and me, I hope you throw up a little bit on the roller coaster.
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