Cross Ply And Radials – Why My Brain Isn’t As Wonky As I Thought. And Yours Might Not Be Either.

My Followers Looked Like This. I Think. It's A Bit Of A Blur To Be Honest

My Followers Looked Like This. I Think. It’s A Bit Of A Blur To Be Honest

I’ve struggled with my brain for a number of years now. Depression, hallucinations, delusions. Thinking that I was some sort of intergalactic messiah, that was a fun one. Believing that I had somebody else’s thumbs. Less dramatic, but also a hoot in many ways. Despite this, I have come to the conclusion that there isn’t really anything wrong with my mind.

I think that owning a mind is a bit like owning a car. The older that car gets, the more little quirks and foibles it develops. You have to turn the ignition in a certain way to get it to start. Dip the clutch in particular manner to get the gears to change. That sort of thing.

Age has given my mind more bangs and rattles and “Honk honks” than a clown car. And as time has gone by, I have completely failed to adjust to these changes. I still try to drive it like it was fresh off the sales forecourt. Which it most definitely is not.

I have substituted increasingly skilful driving with a whole plethora of crutches. My metaphorical car is propped up with more crutches than a figure in one of those Salvador Dali paintings. And that isn’t the metaphor breaking down. I know, you can’t prop up a moving car with crutches. That’s kind of the point.

When I drink and smoke and eat bad food, it’s like putting the wrong fuel in the tank. When I avoid all the things I enjoy doing and indulge in things I hate, it’s like the old scary Public Information film when some idiot mixes cross ply and radial tyres.

I’m a big fan of The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy. In one episode of the radio series, Arthur and Zaphod and everyone are in a stolen spaceship which is plunging backwards through time. There’s sirens and klaxons and general clamour. And then there’s silence and sudden smooth sailing. And somebody says:

“Have You managed to make some sort of sense of the controls?”

“No, we just stopped fiddling with them,” comes the reply.

It’s often resonated with me that little scene. I think it’s what I need to do. Stop smoking, eat healthily and quit drinking. Go to the gym more. Stop randomly rattling my controls and learn to drive all over again. I’m giving it serious consideration. I’ll let you know if I go through with it.

© Copyright Michael 2013

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About thedailygrime

At that awkward age - too young to be a grumpy old man, but just acerbic and downtrodden enough to have an opinion. Read it here.

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