Breaking Brain Waves

Here I sit again, staring into the abyss of haze that is my mind. I think like I speak because the space between the functions is not directed but dispersed like a field of oranges that sprouted a forest when all you get out of me is further from the point.

How is a neuron like a computer function pathway?

I don’t know but I’d like to.

If you communicate in words, defined by a language what is the thought equivalent to making a series of symbols into meaning? It’s about having more than one. Community. Series of symbols to activate neurons is much more complex for the mind. Or is that we just gave it that much meaning? To think may be -to be but existence is much more fun with whimsy, curiosity, fanaticism and the exceedingly rare, passion.

Emotions can be so elusive. It might be that emotions are a primal response to distress and my dinged-up noggin was a bucket of imbalanced hormones with a dollop of drama queen dish soap to cover with suds.

My most vivid memories are attached to feelings.

• I stashed books under my mattress so I could read them late at night by the angled light from the propped open bathroom door. The light only reached one corner, so I’d have to lean over the edge to really read. One night, Ponyboy died, and I cried so hard I fell off the bed.

• In my old high school, my friend, who I secretly(at hope) idolized, was looking for her softball bag to go to practice and I wasn’t paying attention, so I laughed in response, and I’ve been confused about it ever since.

• I know that Thomas Paine wrote Common Sense because that same friend and I made many jokes about her love life being painful and then automatically responding with the correlation of Thomas Paine. I’ve also aspired to write plainly, like him, but half the time I type a word, it’s different than what I was thinking. It’s like a mental word predictor that gives my hands the word two sentences away rather than the word in the time I mean to type it.

• I bought a new bed. I was meant to tip the guy who delivered it and helped get it in the house. I got swept up in the moment and almost forgot. My person reminded me, and I grabbed some cash and shook it at the poor delivery guy like he was an exotic dancer. If that was mortifying, he walked toward the open garage door, only about halfway there and I button the button to close it. I talked about it for a week after to try to wash out the embarrassment, but drama queen scent really stuck with me in the dullest ways.

• I was told to stand next to the tree and talk to my only friend-the scarecrow that was planted next to it. Every fall I snap a picture of all my friends in the giant basket outside the craft store.

My favorite connection to make is amusement in things that shouldn’t be funny unless you think differently. My mind has been a warzone of fear, shame, and uncertainty so my feelings shielded me with jokes about troubling things which only repeat the cycle lead by my curiosity of fearing the unknown and feeling shame for all the ways I could have done things differently.

That’s neither here nor there but that’s where you’d find me.