The Goldfish Who Knew Too Much
|Too much stuff in my brain. Way too much stuff.|
For one thing, there are all the things I need to do. I have never been able to remind myself that I am technically incapacitated; severely disabled and actually I don't have to do anything at all; I am a write-off. Should my health not improve, I will not be obliged to do a day's work for the rest of my life. Nonsense, of course, I have lots of things to do. These include;
Writing - this is my work work. I am amazed anyone still believes that I am writing a book, it is taking so long.
Blogging - this is not work, but is something I do to help me work, by getting this nonsense out of my system. In theory. In truth, I sometimes use all my energy to do this just so I can communicate.
Letters and e-mails - I am always owing them. Some of them I have reason to feel very bad about.
Household administration - this is very important, but so tedious. I am plain naughty about this if I am totally honest.
The Washing - this is not at all a big deal, but it is the one chore I am responsible for. I have been for years and years and yet I still run out of socks on a regular basis.
My projects - I began to list my projects out loud one day when I was feeling overwhelmed. I lied, naming only five. There are in fact about a dozen. Most of them are primarily for the benefit of other people. So my tardiness lets other people down, whether they know about it or not.
And this is before I have left the house ever. Meanwhile, there is everything else that is cluttering up my mind. Well, you get to see some of the crap that it comes up with, but there's also loads of other absolute nonsense; world events, petty domestic events, friends, Romans, preoccupations of all variety.
It is like having a computer with several programs opened at once, perhaps twenty or twenty-five. And someone's clicking Alt+Tab to navigate between the programs, staying briefly on one program before moving on to another. Sometimes it lingers for longer, but when it does, it's usually lingering on something you can't do anything with, a page you've read many times before. Meanwhile, you can see all the other programs on your Taskbar and are well aware that there are many many other things you ought to be doing.
And the really annoying thing is my capacity for stuff. I have a high IQ. I know a lot of stuff, so much useless nonsense about all sorts of subject matter which just pops out from nowhere. True things, facts, not just my weird and wonderful ideas about the world - which also pop out from nowhere. I am very good at Trivial Pursuit, but that's kind of telling isn't it, there's a clue in the title of that game. I know I am a bit obsessed with the fact but... three GCSEs. And this fact makes me think, maybe I should be trying to complete my education instead of faffing about writing books and blogging and doing all these petty artistic projects? Perhaps all this is actually a rather immature approach to life. Not that a degree would do me any good.
After all, I have very little energy. Currently, I am on adrenalin because I am awake at an hour I should not be awake. I spend so much time doing absolutely nothing.
And one o'clock in the morning, in case you are wondering, is hypochondria. No, I'm not a hypochondriac, I am just a sick person who hates going to the doctors. And because I hate going, I worry more than necessary when I get a new symptom. Just now isn't anything to do with my general health, but I have a suspicious mole. I have had a mole in that place for as long as I can remember, but it has grown somewhat, it is now multicoloured, no longer symmetrical and it itches. Not very big though; not as big as a pencil eraser and that's my excuse for inaction.
You see, it is in a personal place - it is on my side, close to my breast so I would have to take my bra off for the doctor to look at it. My doctor is male, so we would both have to hike to the nurse's room so a lady can be present. And then... it was humiliating enough last time, during The Case of the Ever-Expanding Bosom and it seems an awful lot of fuss over a mole. Especially as I have never knowingly exposed that area of my body to sunlight.
And so, I've just been worrying about it, hoping that it will go away. But tonight I had to get out of bed and come on-line in order to dismiss my fears - which of course I didn't. Bugger. I know of course that even if I have a little cancer, it is unlikely to be a great problem at this stage - I'm not actually worried about that one little bit, just worried that I really ought to face the misery of trekking to the doctors and taking off my clothes. Because to do otherwise would be irresponsible, even if it is almost certainly nothing.
Oh pathetic person, go to bed.