Brain fog. “Being blonde”. Now I know what it feels like.
Years ago I acquired the “just being blonde” tag by others in my team at work because I suddenly needed time to digest ideas, questions and discussions. I would never have referred to myself as “being blonde” in those days because I used to be quick-witted, but a) I was dark-haired back then, and still am, and b) I would have taken offense at being associated with the stupidity some blondes go through life with (that said, every other hair colour has flaws also and it was just the way people referred to me this way). Today though I am being majorly, I truly am super-trooper-dooper-dippitydoooo-blonde. And there’s no shame in it. At all.
In other words: my elevator of knowledge does not travel all the way up to the top floor right now; it keeps sticking somewhere between the 3rd and the 4th floor. I hear people talking, but there’s no understanding flowing from hearing and seeing them move their lips and vocal chords into linguistic marvels of the 21st century.
Because I am reading Ulysses by James Joyce, I find myself inventing new words as I go simply to mask the fact that I am looking for the correct words in my online-bodily-dictionary-otherwise-called-my-brain, words totally unintelligible of course by others but as long as sound escapes my mouth, at least I am somewhat alive. Somewhat. I had to skip tonight’s reading class of the very same Ulysses though because I don’t want to confound people any more than they will be in class later on.
Fever also. Very unlike me. Why? Why not? Red cheeks. Flashing hot body while freezing. OK, time for bed (I am talking in Leopold Bloom’s use of language now – Bloom, the protagonist of Ullyses. Staccato. Very much so. Saves energy. Rather like ‘Earth Hour’ but then within my body). Must rest. Mucho so.
Been doing too much lately. For others, my “too much” seems “very little” but they do not run on limited energy resources like I do. Reading group. Food shopping. Trying to paint my bathroom which is the size of a lady’s handkerchief yet it took me 5 days. Wrestling Trigeminal Neuralgia (TN). Realizing I’ve been unwell. More than I usually am and now paying the price for doing too much. Yes, my own levels of “doing too much”.
Mind you, one positive of having TN is that it has greatly reduced my online time on Facebook, which can only lead to happier friends and relatives, because when I’m good, I’m really good in posting stuff on Facebook, but when I’m bad, I’m just bad and go offline to rest my eyes, face and everything else in between.
No wonder TN is called the “suicide disease” because you would bang your head against the wall of pain. Cause? Sitting on the side of cold windows on the bus or train; loud, sharp noises; wind or cool air flowing in; talking. Try having a chat with me when I have TN. Every so many words there is an “aaww!” escaping my lips because it feels like a knife is stabbed in my ear, resulting in pain and interrupted conversations. Nice? No, not really.
One other good thing is also the arrival of Spotify on Irish shores. For a premium account, which is €10 per month, you can download and synch loads of songs which I can then put on my . Me: extensive lover of music so this morning I attacked Spotify’s jazz archives in case I can’t sleep and I need some soft tones to help me doze off. Will tell later if it helps or not.
Feeling my words being reduced to staccato and sharp again. Energy levels down to zero.
Bed. Calling. Me.
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