Trask Avenue

Tonight my head feels like it cannot hold one more thought. Literally. If a single idea somehow managed to force its way in excess words would start shooting out of my ears like steam from an overheated radiator. My brain is filled with such a ridiculous amount of trivial gibberish, along with the occasional fully formed concept to spice things up, that I’ve run out of storage space. At least it feels that way.

I glaze over news stories with Teflon efficiency. I watch television shows requiring absolutely no effort, just the ability to react with a primal laugh when people wipe out on an impossibly insane obstacle course. I listen to music and find if it’s not something already ingrained in the brain it floats past my ears as a butterfly would. Gosh that might’ve been lovely, but now it’s gone. Yes, it’s time to face the brutal facts. Tonight, the hard drive is maxed out. There is no room at the inn, no tickets for the show, no seats on the bus. Move along, pretty thoughts. We’re all full up.

For this I blame two things, neither of which is me. Because that’s what we modern folks do. We point fingers and shed responsibility.

First, I point to you, you constant barrage of information all the time from everywhere. I mean, really. Is this volume of drivel necessary? Is there anyplace we can turn for a reprieve? I have yet to join Twitter Nation, but you know things have gotten away from us when people who promote the restorative benefits of quiet meditation are wearing out their thumbs tweeting. You know, people like the Dalai Lama. (@DalaiLama) Now if you were a cynical soul you may be thinking I could choose to disconnect from all the guilty sources which push information out faster than Kate Gosselin does kids. I suppose I could, but let’s be honest, it would be much easier for me if they stopped first.

Second, I point to you, you damn weed pollen. Like a bad dance partner seasonal allergies waltzed into my life about five years ago. Today has been an especially weedy day – and not in the Woody Harrelson way. My eyes are watery, my nose is runny, my head is achy breaky. I’m having trouble concentrating. When I try to let new information slide in some dastardly force detects this and issues orders for a sneeze to end all sneezes, the kind of eruption that would rally ape armies against their human oppressors. Or maybe just make me write really mediocre analogies.

Since I can’t let something like pollen get the best of me, I do what we modern folks do when faced with a dilemma – I turn to drugs. In this case, Benadryl. I popped a couple of those bad boys a little while ago and already my sinuses are clearing up, already the headache is subsiding. This is good! What’s not so good is the feeling an army of dwarves is trying to pull my eyelids down. No doubt that troublemaker Doc is leading the charge. That’s fine. I know I’m superior to mere gelcaps. I can fight this!!! I can fight this!! I can fight this! I can fight this. I can fi………………