You make my wheel set me free
I satisfy my vices in small amounts. I have bottles of wine in my cupboard long ago turned to vinegar and a bottle of vodka from October still half-full. I buy a carton of cigarettes to smoke two or three and then give the rest away.
I eat chocolate everyday, but that's another story.
It feels like my mind operates on overdrive; that it's always working on something-- rehashing the past, figuring out the present, contemplating and planning for the future. Doing menial tasks doesn't distract its persistant work. In fact, it seems encouraged by monotony. While working on a knitted piece, I'll suddenly find that I have completed far more than I thought. I have to take a second to remember where I went, and often it's to somewhere unexpected: saving for retirement, fulfilling my dreams, naming my aspirations, cooking for my future self/family, next week's "To Do" list, metaphysical poetry, movies I love, songs I hate, people I miss, failed relationships, the promise of the future-- I don't know how it gets to these places, and sometimes I'm unaware that we're there, but it's always thinking.
And, occasionally, it gets very loud.
I once took Valium for a medical procedure. Unsure what to expect, but certain I shouldn't drive I had a friend take me to the testing cite. As we passed through a familiar intersection I exclaimed, "When did they put that pond there? It's very pretty. I wonder what it's for." My friend just laughed and drove on, but I continued to stare in wonder. When everything was finished and the drug had worn off my mother called. "How did it go?" she asked, refering to the procedure. "It was like a vacation. Like my mind had shut off all of its auxiliary power and I was operating on auto-pilot," I responsded, refering to the Valium. "I understand why house-wives were addicted to this stuff. It was fanstastic and scary."
I was not only impressed by my mind's mini-break, I was also acutely aware of just how much is going on in my head at one time. There is always a song playing and occasionally scenes from movies-- both real and imagined. There is noise and color and information just flying by.
And I am almost certain that none of us live up to our full potential mind-wise.
There are days when my brain and my body call out for a break. For a chance to slow down and join the world; to be able to sit for just a moment without figuring out "what's next." To stare at the stars, to notice ponds, to appreciate where I am. I used to read these cravings as a sign of weakness, that I couldn't keep up... but I am learning to give into them.
After all, the stars are very pretty.
And I'll hop back on the treadmill in the morning.
I eat chocolate everyday, but that's another story.
It feels like my mind operates on overdrive; that it's always working on something-- rehashing the past, figuring out the present, contemplating and planning for the future. Doing menial tasks doesn't distract its persistant work. In fact, it seems encouraged by monotony. While working on a knitted piece, I'll suddenly find that I have completed far more than I thought. I have to take a second to remember where I went, and often it's to somewhere unexpected: saving for retirement, fulfilling my dreams, naming my aspirations, cooking for my future self/family, next week's "To Do" list, metaphysical poetry, movies I love, songs I hate, people I miss, failed relationships, the promise of the future-- I don't know how it gets to these places, and sometimes I'm unaware that we're there, but it's always thinking.
And, occasionally, it gets very loud.
I once took Valium for a medical procedure. Unsure what to expect, but certain I shouldn't drive I had a friend take me to the testing cite. As we passed through a familiar intersection I exclaimed, "When did they put that pond there? It's very pretty. I wonder what it's for." My friend just laughed and drove on, but I continued to stare in wonder. When everything was finished and the drug had worn off my mother called. "How did it go?" she asked, refering to the procedure. "It was like a vacation. Like my mind had shut off all of its auxiliary power and I was operating on auto-pilot," I responsded, refering to the Valium. "I understand why house-wives were addicted to this stuff. It was fanstastic and scary."
I was not only impressed by my mind's mini-break, I was also acutely aware of just how much is going on in my head at one time. There is always a song playing and occasionally scenes from movies-- both real and imagined. There is noise and color and information just flying by.
And I am almost certain that none of us live up to our full potential mind-wise.
There are days when my brain and my body call out for a break. For a chance to slow down and join the world; to be able to sit for just a moment without figuring out "what's next." To stare at the stars, to notice ponds, to appreciate where I am. I used to read these cravings as a sign of weakness, that I couldn't keep up... but I am learning to give into them.
After all, the stars are very pretty.
And I'll hop back on the treadmill in the morning.
posted by Katharine at
5:40 PM
3 Comments:
i think it's important to listen when the voice inside you calls out for a break. sometimes, we are going so fast, that we don't even realize it until we are forced to slow down (like on a vacation). i don't think you need meds to do it for you though, especially if you recognize it on your own!
I agree-- and I don't. But, it was a shocking experience, and really rather enlightening. I no longer assume "needing a break" makes me weak... it makes me human.
If I knew how to, I could move things with my mind.
Seriously.
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