meat puppet

(the tool just ate my prior 300 words. we’ll see whether I can do this again.)

I didn’t use to give attention to this. I’ve known that the brain and the body support each other—viz. sleep has always been my non-negotiable—but like most US folk I know, I barrelled along as if they were loosely coupled at best. Occasionally one’s issues would pull on the other, but short of getting the flu (look at that body, getting in the way of mind!) they’d wash out over the week, or month. OK, there was the time I ended up with clinical depression probably because I had a 9+-month, massive, influential work project and a monster case of imposter syndrome to go with it. But that’s the only time I’ve been on Zoloft.

Maybe it’s that I turned 50. Maybe it’s that I turned 50 and promptly started full-time graduate school. But starting last fall I’ve had to pay much more attention to the ways my brain consumes resources from my body, and what happens to both when my body runs low.

I’ve been struggling with this Wednesday afternoon, yesterday, today. I have a two-essay final to complete before next Wednesday; I looked ahead and I’d be better served to finish on Monday, since I start one of my spring term classes on Tuesday.

And yet I’m slower than sloths. My trainer today spent two hours untangling me via assisted stretching, and I feel as if we spent the time in high-intensity intervals. (It had been three weeks…) Weirdly hungry, I’ve been eating oddly, and my body’s been responding oddly right back. (It’s currently disavowing any responsibility for the dozen marshmallows I fed it by giving me a head- and stomach-ache. Fair; there was no prior craving, merely marshmallows on a shelf.)

When am I going to have enough body to set brain free to write? What would be a wise path to take for rebounding? Am I shoving myself into a mechanical-efficiency approach when a more organic tack is called for? Said differently, am I hurrying when going slow would better get me what I want? Two and a half days sure doesn’t feel like I’m rushing-!


Brain steering around a meat puppet? More like tangible self driving the immaterial, which keeps trying to pretend otherwise.

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