Sometimes my head is so full. It just spills over with garbled noise. My brain jumping from one thing to the next. It’s like the scan button on the radio is stuck on. I’m able to pick up a word or two, maybe a few chords from a song, but nothing to yield the structure of context. It’s these times that I find myself going stir-crazy.
I have trouble sitting still and focusing on what needs to get done. It is as though I am a pole of a magnet and the critical task is the same pole. As I try to merge them I find myself repelled elsewhere only to try again in a little while. I can pull the repulsive ends of two magnets together, but it requires great concentration and focus to hold them there. A lapse of thought and there I am, attached to things that are more attractive in the moment. It would be more interesting if I could play playful on what is attractive, but it’s usually the mundanities of daily life. I look at the bank account. I check my EBay page. I look at my calendar. I tinker with low priority stuff in the lab.
To get back on track I excused myself from the office to work from a coffee shop. The actual noise somehow feels like a stopper in my brain, keeping the thought-noise contained to me. I have earplugs in.
I messaged my girlfriend and told her my head was noisy. She said to take out my headphones. Not helpful. Then she told me to write about it. Good idea, but I don’t always need to be mom’d with solutions. I’m a little irritated, but here I am writing.
What the hell is wrong with me following along with being mom’d. Regardless, here I am writing. I guess it’s helping. The 1,000,000 thoughts have reduced to three. Maybe five. Still it’s less, but here I am writing.
Maybe if I’m careful I can transition this to the final program report I need to finish. It’s severely overdue. The results suck to the point of embarassment. I just want to avoid it. So here I am writing a stream of conciousness defecation to avoid it and the noise in my head. At least it’s focused, just not in the right place, but I am writing. It feels good, like opening a bathtub drain or enacting the rumble of the garbage disposal to clear a full sink.
I’ve wasted enough time. I need to get writing.