Before Coffee: Brain Weasels
May 5, 2016 § Leave a comment
It’s chilly here. Spring in Cincinnati means 80 degrees one day and 45 degrees the next. So we’re in long sleeves and coats again, huddled around barrels of burning trash because there’s no way in hell we’re turning the heat back on.
And the brain weasels are out—those feral, toothy rodents that live inside your skull, sleeping, until something sends them whirling around and destroying every good feeling you have about yourself.
Maybe it’s the rollercoaster temps or the fact that it’s been gray days for most of this week. I dunno. Something set them off this morning, chittering in their mad little voices as I showered, as I ate breakfast, as I drove to work.
“You really screwed up that thing you did yesterday, and nobody liked it. I don’t care what they said. It was stupid and awful.”
“That meeting yesterday was the boss’s way of saying your work sucks. You’ll probably get fired soon.”
“What you said to that kid in high school was terrible. Sure, it was 20 years ago, but it probably ruined his life. You’re disgusting.”
And the one the brain weasels really like:
“You’re wasting your time on this stupid novel. You’re not a writer. You’ve been playing at it for what, 25 years? Longer? If you were a writer, you’d be on the bestseller list by now. You’d at least have one book published by now.”
Listen to them long enough, and I realize they only have one thing to say: You’re bad and you should feel bad. On good day, it’s easy to laugh that off as the juvenile shit throwing it is.
On other days, though.