The other night, I encountered an article about Pick Up Artists on Buzzfeed. The oddly dressed Romeos haunt the internet, touting seduction secrets for a fee.
The piece made me sad–sad for the seduced women, sad for the fee-paying men and sad that insults could ever be part of establishing a relationship.
I skipped to a cheerier article and then pre-bedtime hands of Spider Solitaire. At 10:00, I clicked off the lights.
As I snuggled under my pillow castle, my brain began a conversation with itself over Pick Up Artists.
Like a rude person having an interesting discussion on a cell phone, my brain invaded my peace. I tried to ignore the intrusive cascade of thoughts, but they were too loud and fascinating to ignore.
Brain chattered about relationships and the human condition. It devised elaborate match-making services and philosophized about neurodiversity, dating and mating. Sophisticated scenarios evolved and replayed themselves.
I tossed and turned. The rational part of me knocked on the window, as the rest of held a Pick Up Artist Party. After the 25th pillow adjustment, I glimpsed the clock–1:30 a.m.
Irritated, I hoisted myself out of bed, clumped downstairs and fixed some Malt O’ Meal. I watched an episode of South Park, returned upstairs and conked out.
The next morning I woke with this thought: my brain is a pet of sorts. It hungers and has strange cravings, especially when anxious. I’ve been feeding Brain too much Curious George and Spider Solitaire. Like a naughty dog, Brain responded by chewing on the mental shreds of a Buzzfeed editorial.
I plan to nourish my mind with finer fare, and to change the midnight scenery when I endlessly toss. Or perhaps I’ll take my late night dialogues to the computer screen so I have something to show for those lost hours.
Digital elements: Sherrie Drummond, Beth Rimmer.