Ramblings of an Inquisitive Mind

How My Brain Works

I just wanted to share with you how my brain works. I’m not sure if everyone’s brain operates this way, but mine does. Maybe I’m just crazy. I’m sure some of you already think so.

Here is a typical morning for me. Wake up. Run around taking care of animals and beating myself up for not getting out of bed when the alarm went off, and being late for work again. The crazy has not even started yet; that doesn’t begin until I get in my dad’s truck and head for work.

Lots of mornings I combat the crazy by calling someone and talking on the way to work. But this morning I run through my list of people: not Kim, because Steve is probably home, and I hate to bother her since he travels during the week. Not Sylvia; she is probably still sleeping. Not Lorene; she is having a weekend full of family. Not Gail; she is teaching. Not Doyle; he is probably still at the Fast Phil’s, telling stories with his buddies. So it is just me and my crazy brain on the way to work.

And . . . we’re off. Make sure you come to a complete stop at all stop signs so you don’t get stopped by the deputy again. But would he really know if he’s not sitting there? Do you think they would put cameras in the woods? Stop and proceed.

Now the brain starts missing my mom and dad, with that feeling that starts in my stomach, then moves from my chest into my throat. I want to vomit. The questions start: What the hell happened? Maybe this is just a nightmare and I will wake up soon. Feelings of guilt that I was not with Dad when he passed away. Why the hell did I put Mom in that nursing home?

I want to talk to them, see them. I want to tell them I love them. How can I keep living? How can I keep breathing?

Get to the next stop light. Notice the truck in front of me with an Obama/Biden sticker, and also a “War is not the answer” sticker. I have to get a look at this fellow Oglethorpe county citizen. He’s a man with a beard, a typical country-looking guy. My brain says, You never would have guessed that. Meet that dude on the street, and I would immediately have judged him. Scold myself for my judgments: Don’t judge a book by its cover.

Then my brain starts thinking about war. Who in God’s name thinks it’s okay to send other people’s children to fight these battles? How is it okay to take someone’s son or daughter and send them off to die? Why do we do this crazy thing? Patriotism? Some misguided sense of duty? How can I be okay when someone else is grieving the loss of their child or significant other? How can I be okay knowing others have died for me to be free? Those politicians should figure something out: some way to stop all this craziness.

Then the brain starts processing the politicians. Their lack of caring. Their lack of understanding. Divide, divide, divide–that is their goal. We must not let them win.

FINALLY I’m at the stop light in front of work. Here I am, at the hell hole again. Pull into my parking place, jump out of the truck. Brain says, You need to ask Jeff to explain how the air compressor works.

Twenty minutes from home to work, and I have exploded all sorts of poison into my brain. Self-destruct? No–here at work, I can fill my mind with work and my coworkers. But no telling what awaits me on my way home.

Discoveries

Well, it is time. Time for me to unzip this impostor’s costume that I have been walking around in for the last few years of my life. I know I have talked before about a snake or a lizard shedding its skin—but that is not what this feels like. I feel like I pulled on a costume after my parents died, and that costume served me well for a long time. It healed me, in a way. But it also distanced me from a lot of things that I hold dear.

I am extremely frightened and also excited, both at the same time. Once this costume is unzipped, only new, tender, fragile skin will be exposed. I have no idea what to expect. Will this exposure be worth it in the end? Or will the costume hang in the closet, always at the ready, if fear overtakes me? I guess only time will tell. I am hopeful that this will allow me to evolve into the soul, the creature, the being that I am destined to be.

It is time for me to tell my story—to let you in—and hopefully it will help me figure out who the hell I am. I hope that sharing some of my life with you will not only free me, but might also encourage you to tell your story and free yourself. Maybe by sharing we can all learn how to get along in this world. The world can be a scary place when you feel like you are alone and the world does not care, or does not even see you.

I am hoping to discover how this 56-year-old, liberal, democratic, recovering alcoholic, lesbian, animal-loving, long-haired, hippie, peace-loving freak came to be. For years I was pretty darn sure I didn’t belong to my family. I thought maybe I was Joni Mitchell’s child!!! But the funny thing is that I look just like my Pops. So for all my differences from them, for all that I am, I am made up of equal parts Chew, Scott, Sikes, and Braswell.

Over the next few weeks I will start sharing some of my stories. Thanks for reading and thank you for all the support.