Thursday, August 7, 2014

Fried Brain Syndrome aka FBS


Surely you know what this is.  I define it as random thoughts flitting in and out of my brain when I’m busily working, thoughts that don’t resurface when I might have a chance to act on them, but instead when I’m busily working once again.  I just happened to write down FBS one day when it occurred to me, and that’s the only reason the syndrome is being captured in a blog.  Now, tell me, are you also picturing that old ad campaign from the 80’s, Your Brain on Drugs?  That image of a fried egg seems apropos here too.
My poor dog is suffering as a result of my FBS.  He occasionally shakes his head in my office, and I think, “Uh-oh, he’s got ear mites again; I need to get his medicine.”  The medicine, however, is downstairs in the laundry room, not upstairs in my office.  Has he been treated in the last week?  Of course not.  Similarly, I often hear what I call the “bathroom gremlins,” the toilet briefly running when no one is around, and I think, “I need to let my husband know, so he can fix this.”  Now, I did finally manage to let him know, but it was probably weeks before I did.  And, no sooner did he fix the master bath than the gremlins moved to the guest bath.
I’ll be on a conference call and think, “I need to schedule the Dunwoody Dad,” who does our yard work, but don’t think about it again until I’m in bed at night.  The same goes for contacting my interior designer. She’s looking for a new living rug for us, and I keep thinking I should email her and ask how the search is going; I think of that when sitting in the living room, looking at the rug, not when I’m at my computer and can easily send her a note.  If I’m lucky, she’ll read this blog and think to send me an update.  Naturally, well naturally for me, rug thoughts lead to my idea of rearranging the living room, a task I’d need her help with.  And, I think, “Well, when I speak with her about the rug, I’ll explain that idea.”  This could go on for months at this rate.
When I’m twisting my hair into a bun each morning, I remember that I have an appointment with my hairdresser in a few weeks and am ready to have my hair chopped off chin length again. To follow through on that idea, I really do need to surf the internet for some style photos.  Do I remember that when I’m chained to my desk in front of my computer all day long?  What do you think?  No, I think of it again the next morning in front of the mirror.
My husband and I were joking just this morning about the saying, Mind like a steel trap. We decided ours were no longer steel and were more likely aluminum.  We think the next phase is mind like tin foil.  Or perhaps it’s this saying I found online: My Mind is like a steel trap…rusted shut. When we both reach that phase—no matter what we call it—we’ll be in serious trouble.