Like any other muscle, the brain needs to be used or it gets squishy. These days, both my mind and my body seem to be doing as little as possible, and both are becoming squishy. I have little desire to do much of anything, while at the same time, I want to do a million “other” things that I believe I’d do if I had the chance. If I’m realistic about it, I probably wouldn’t do those either. My husband calls this depression and encourages me to find a piece of shriveled up corn to kick-start my thought processes. (this won’t make sense unless you read Hyperbole and a Half’s post about depression)
I’m not sure I’m quite where she was. I think I’m more at war with my surroundings and instead of fighting the clutter and stress and work, I’m just hiding in my head. Of course, it would be great if *I* could find *me* in there so I could wake myself up and tell myself all is well.
“If beating ourselves up worked, we’d all be thin, rich and happy by now.”—Cheryl Richardson