Welcome to the attic of my mind. Mind the stairs, click the light on and have a rummage around my thoughts on writing, the art of everything second-hand, the natural world, music . . . just about everything. Probably not much about sport.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
The brain, as I and many thousand others have observed, is complex, to say the least.
I once heard a memorable program on radio 4 by a very eminent prof of the brain woman who described the emotional part of the brain as a series of tiny see-saws.
I always remember this when experiencing a day of 'ups and downs', such as yesterday.
The morning was dullish but satisfactory in acheiving 'stuff'. Washing, shopping, trip to insurance broker to ask why we had an unfathomably weird letter from them, which they in turn had no idea about either, etc etc.
Home, lunch, went to make several boring but important phone calls . . . no sign of phone book, slim orange thing pictured above. I bought this because it is bright orange and thus CANNOT be lost. Spent about an hour looking all over the house. First in casual hopeful way - of course it would just be under a pile of papers. Nope. Then in more intense way - possible sensible places: in-tray, drawers that contain important items etc. Then in deranged, irritable way: fridge, sock drawer, dog beds etc. Nowhere.
Cloud of grey descended; made sure that everyone else joined in as I wanted to share my fury. Dogs sulked, cat went out into the rain, and Ezra became strangely helpful. Tried the 'count one's blessing thing. No good. I knew what I was cross about on a world scale was so pathetic that it could not register, but the day continued thus, briefly up-lifted during a gardening episode.
Tried different looking techniques from time to time - quick furtive scramble through piles I had already looked at, a nonchalant glance under the sofa . . . nothing. Accepted I would have to find all the numbers another way, then I found it. In Ezra's room, under a massive pile of electronic bits I was moving so he would be able to find the bed.
Mood lifted, the lights came on, the dogs smiled. Everything for just a moment was completely perfect . . . in fact, has continued to be so, despite sullen grey drizzle outside, and the fact that all the boring phone calls still have to be made.
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