Can’t Brain Today: A story of head fog and burritos
Some days, a fog comes down so thick and fast, you can’t see it coming. You barely notice it billowing around your ankles until it covers you completely and you can’t see much beyond your feet.
On days like that, I have difficult conversations with my brain —
‘Brain?’
‘Yeah babes’
‘What are we doing later?’
‘Hmmmm. Mmmmm.’
‘Brain?’
‘Mmmmm.’
I imagine my brain eating a burrito, stuffing the warm cheesy goodness into its face like a fat cat with hands. It’s too busy to bother responding to my silly questions. That burrito sure is delicious right now.
Only problem is, my brain doesn’t eat a burrito like a normal person.
My brain takes hours to eat a burrito, sometimes even days. And I’m sitting here thinking: for fark’s sake, there’s washing piled up in the bathroom and this floor has tiny specks of food on it and I’m pretty sure I left dishes in the sink and I’m supposed to be getting ready to visit those people that I really like and have just had a new baby and it’s going to be really fun but I have to leave the house RIGHT NOW.
‘Brain?’
‘Yo’
‘We have to leave the house, right now, OK?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m right on it babes, just after I …’
[You hear chewing noises, maybe a bit of gurgling — burrito-induced indigestion.]
And then your significant other comes to the rescue. S/he rips the burrito right out of brain’s hands, stands you up, spins you around and off you go, riding your bikes through the wind like you’re being chased by the Hounds of Hell, when really, you’re running slightly late for afternoon tea.
And brain doesn’t say thank you or anything.
It just sits there, slowly flooding with endorphins from all the exertion, and the cogs start turning. Gradually, grunts turn into words, words form into sentences, sentences form into the beginning of the story you’re going to write tomorrow. The fog lifts. And brain says:
‘It happened again. I called you babes, didn’t I?’
‘Twice’, I think. But I don’t bear a grudge. I’m just glad brain’s back and I can get on with things. I return home to vacuum the floors, knowing that brain and I are a team again — until it gets hold of another burrito.
