Mind Expansion
I know I talk a real lot about my school work. There’s just no getting around that; it’s what I do. I spend almost all of my time–days, nights, weekends, holidays–thinking about this one project. I spent 8 hours on New Years Day writing and wasn’t even that aware that other people weren’t doing the same. I sent a business e-mail to my advisor on Jan. 1 and then had to send a second one saying, “Heh…oops…forgot the holidays are upon us.” This is the long route to saying, I’m all consumed by this.
Because of this, I’ve noticed a kind of latent effect. I wonder if this happens to everyone: when I’m in the midst of intense writing (generally accompanied by intense thinking), a host of mental abilities become a lot sharper. I can do mental math (which I usually cannot), I solve more crossword puzzles faster (and I mean markedly faster), I can read like lightning. But my senses also get sharper. I usually have really good hearing (inexplicably) but last night I was awakened from a dead sleep by the water gurgling through the radiator in the kitchen. The beeping of the gate on the parking lot across from my apartment is about to drive me to drink (wait….). And I pity whoever around me is singing even the slightest bit off key…I’m telling you now, I can hear it.
Beyond this, I get SUPER critical (as if I wasn’t a good degree of this already) but in a weird, detached neutral way. I’ll watch some weird, schlocky reality offering on BRAVO like Real Housewives and make editorial comments like, “Now I would have panned away from Theresa at that moment to capture the angst on Danielle’s face.” What? Who cares #1 what you think and #2 about Danielle’s angst? And who uses the word angst in everyday life anyway? I don’t think I’m judging…I’m just analyzing everything. It’s a runaway train. Over my vacation, I took great joy in watching The West Wing mostly because they were talking at a speed that I could understand. The Gilmore Girls is also good for this. It doesn’t really matter to me what they’re saying. I’m just comforted by the fact that someone is talking at pace I know.
All of this I’d call “hyper-awareness” and I’d like very much for it to go away. This crazy internal monologue that I have perpetually running in my head sounds like it’s playing on a mini-tape recorder on fast-forward. It’s my voice “Alvin and the Chipmunk” style. I wish it were energy. That’s more helpful. This is like mania or something.
At the same time, I’m fascinated by it. It’s not always around; in my non-writing periods I am virtually a slug in Gap jeans. I can be blissfully oblivious to lots of stuff. In an interesting correlation, I’m also a lot happier during those times. I like slugs. They’re slow. And quiet.
I think the predicament is interesting. I always wondered what it would feel like to think and write at this level. I know now. I’d like to give it back.