I do a lot of lying in bed. Sometimes I sleep for 12 hours at a time and sometimes I can't get any sleep at all. Sometimes I am just too physically exhausted to get up or else if I manage getting up and getting dressed that wears me out and I end up back in bed. I am explaining this not in order to complain about my lot, but to make it clear why I have a lot of time for thinking. With my sort of brain thinking can be a bit dangerous so I often try to distract myself with books, magazines and internet. Why dangerous, you ask? Because, like Hamlet, I am an over thinker. An obsessive thinker. Although where Hamlet cannot take action for all his thinking, I end up thinking all the more because I cannot take action.
Sophie, my cat, often tries to help me with this dilemma. She has tried various treatments such as sitting on my head in order to affect the brain, lying across my neck in order to reduce air flow, which may actually be an attempt to kill me and thus be queen, and I sometimes see her stirring her paw in my water glass, where no doubt she has put some sort of magical catnip curative potion. When all of those fail, she tries getting up onto a dresser and shoving my fragile possessions off it and onto the floor in order to provoke a response that might involve my getting out of the bed. But still my brain persists in mulling over things, wandering past things only to do a double take and return, or falling into an unmarked grave and pondering poor Yorick. Alas, I knew him well. Or at least I pondered his actions enough to think I did.
Sometimes, while I lie there with active brain and passive limbs, I think upon myself and all my foibles, neuroses, hopes and dreams, and at other times I think of other people. All this then leads me to wonder, which is worse to be thinking of myself so much, though admittedly the thoughts are inclined to be critical, or to analyse the actions and behaviours of others as all we hobbyist psychoanalysts are inclined to do? And then the cat steps on my head on her roundabout way to the bedroom windowsill. She wants me out of the bed and on the sofa. It's noon. That, according to her, is where I am supposed to be. All is not right with her world and her own little brain is obsessing on this.
It has been half an hour since I woke. Lying here for that amount of time usually makes it clear if I am going to be able to get up and dress or not. I want to paint. Even to doodle. But it takes more energy from me, both mentally and physically than reading or writing or thinking do and I have to find the energy to feed myself decently today. I also have to conserve energy for an anticipated visit from a friend tomorrow. I'm excited. It means putting on something nice, making coffee for someone other than myself. But I have no food to offer. Here goes my brain with something new to worry about and off it goes, following that odd path the brain takes, making associations and dragging out memories.
Scroll on down to the previous post to see my Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style entry.