Brain Shut-down

My brain shut down for a week. I mean like, out-of-order, out-to-lunch. Restart button is not going to cut it. There would be no figuring, calculating, writing, thinking or fixing of anyone’s anything for seven complete days. 

The summer virus from hell, or maybe it was heaven-sent, showed up out of nowhere. The first symptoms were chills, then a low-grade fever, along with a dry cough. Headaches, body aches, and general brain-numbness. A basic lack of ability to think clearly or with any degree of complexity.

The wonderful side-effect of all of that non-thinking was the inability to worry and constantly problem-solve as my brain always does, even when I’m trying to sleep. My brain doesn't shut off. That button is defective. You push the button at bedtime. It may work. It might not. It may work for a while and then suddenly turn back on at three o'clock in the morning. 

I was constantly hungry, but couldn’t think of anything healthy to eat. There was no energy or awareness to call and coordinate doctors, attorney’s and elder-care agencies to work on the current situation with my mom. Her lack of mobility and inability to climb the stairs to take a shower would simply have to wait. 

As a writer, I feel the incessant need to write. Especially, if there is some quiet time available. Nope! My brain wasn’t having it. Thoughts would come and then go before I could get them down on paper. 

I tried my normal witty banter on social media. Every status was dumb and more boring than the last. I found myself whining about the details of being sick. And then I realized how much I hate when people do that. No one really gives a shit about your coughing fit and the fact that you can’t seem to wake up. No one needs an announcement about your naps and headaches. 

So, I would find myself posting and then when the fever would break and I got some nutrition into my body, I would come to my senses and delete the posts. I did this over and over again. 

I discovered that I don't simply love social media, I love my own narcissistic banter on social media. I love the parts I control. I love my clever friends and fellow-positive thinkers, people who are honest and funny. I pretty much hate the parts I can't control. Like all of the political posts and posts about criminals. Can't scroll past that crap fast enough.

I am so generous, I spared all of my friends the selfies I took of myself looking pathetic, in bed with an unwashed face and hair that hadn’t been washed or combed in days. There were many thoughts of shaving my head during this seven-day period. Thankfully, I didn't have enough energy to follow through.

The point is that my body and mind took a break to get the rest that it needed. It didn’t wait for me to agree to the deal. It just bogarted! 

bogart -according to google...

bo·gart

/ˈbōɡärt/

verb INFORMAL•US

1. selfishly appropriate or keep (something, especially a lit marijuana cigarette).
   "don't bogart that joint, my friend"

Not that I know anything about marijuana. That's all Google.

My body took what it wanted, stopped and looked at me like, 

'Yeah. What you gonna do? Nothing! Lay your ass back down and go to sleep! These people and their problems will still be here ready to suck your blood next week when I’ve had enough rest. Thank you very much.'