T h e A d v e n t u r e s o f C h i c a g o J o
The Smart Man's Poison
|2008-01-05† Ė† 7:50 p.m.|
There was this time that I thought I dreamed up a funny song about the day Ted Nugent killed all the animals. But after waking up, I went to Google to check my suspicions. And although Iíd never heard anything else from Wally Pleasant except Stupid Day Job, somehow this song about Mr. Nugent worked its way into my brain.
My college boyfriend was really into listening to esoteric music at that time, regularly tuning into the campusí morning radio show. Somewhere in that half-awake/half-asleep faux slumber, I must have heard the tune and attributed it to something I created in the top half of the brain rather than that bottom, hidden part that we have no control over. Alas, I did not think-up or a song about Ted Nugent killing any defenseless animals.
Henceforth, when something I think is an interesting idea pops into my head, I sometimes have to Google it to make sure Iím not pretending that I made something up. Todayís melancholic pull gave me this notion that Thinking is the smart manís poison.
Google confirms that perhaps this is an original thought, so I figure itís safe to elaborate without stepping on someone elseís intellectual property. People seem to get all persnickety when you take their ideas as your own, ya know.
Todayís temperature was unseasonably warm (thank you), but the dark sky and threat of rain made it far from being the sort of day you want to venture out into. But between escaping home for a bit and needing to stretch a pesky calf muscle, I took a few-mile walk around downtown.
One of my New Yearís resolutions that I started before í08 hit was to leave the house once per day. I make no attempt at hiding my crazy: the winter brings out a depressive streak that would probably benefit from little, round pills of some sort; however, I cannot bring myself to justify a chemical loop-de-loop for something that might help. Iím giving this winter a go with healthy eating, lots of weight lifting, surrounding myself with good people, and just keeping an eye on myself.
Well, Iíve only been in the city for eight days and have already found myself in bed with a basket of used tissues, wondering why I canít just snap out of it. So far I get a big FAIL on that one. However, I did pry my puffy-faced self up and say to myself, ďLook, self. You can wallow in nothingness on your own time. But right now youíre going for a walk. Yes, the city is deserted and dim right now. But Iíll make a deal with you: walk just two miles, and Iíll let you cry all you want along the way.Ē
How can you argue with that?
So I laced up, put on the lightweight Siberia gear, and snuck out the back door to avoid having to encounter the friendly door lady. I managed not to keep the useless and pointless tears up, but something along the way reminded me of the time that I quit eating.
Now, Iím not talking about those five pounds you lose after a nasty breakup when you donít eat because anything makes everything twist and turn in all the wrong ways. Iím talking about this conscious decision not to eat because it completely grossed me out.
I have this uncanny ability to break things down to the lowest common denominator. And itís when things are down to the gritty that I see the entire process. This is good for things like writing computer manuals. Conversely, this is no good when youíre thinking about human biology.
Eating is nasty. With the rumination, the mastication, the saliva, the ensuing, um, process that follows -- ick! I thought too much about this, and I was done with eating for a bit. I knew it wasnít something that would last too long, so I just let it be.
On this little, depressed walk I had today, I started to wonder how many other people have done the same thing with getting grossed out by eating. Then something else came to mind: you really have to know what all is going into the digestive process to be thoroughly grossed out by it. And thatís where my thought that thinking is the smart manís poison came to mind.
If I was less ignorant to everything going on, Iíd be less inclined to think about it. And being less inclined to think about it, Iíd be less inclined to react to it.
Lo and behold, my epiphany.
Perhaps my absolute ennui on days like today isnít only a matter of lessening amounts of serotonin or too many clouds in the sky. After all, the things Iím thinking about that trigger that downward spiral dumbfound even me. I wonít share them here because thereís a huge divide in personal opinions of what brings happiness, but lately my ideal happiness-inducing situations arenít hitting the map of the norm. Itís in this recognition that I recognize that perhaps I spend a little too much time thinking deep thoughts instead of looking at videos on YouTube.
So I leave you this Friday night with some recent browsings:
By far the hottest thing Britney Spears has ever done
Some badass drumming by John Boecklin of Devil Driver
The song thatís been in my head for the last two weeks
I know youíve already seen this, but Iím still amused