Look out, Woody Allen

My neurons are really, super tired.

I don't know if this is by nature's design or by personal choice, but I am an over-analyzer. To the point of fucking brain exhaustion. Which is ironic, because that provides me with yet another bullet point on a very long, PowerPoint-ish list to consider and think about. I designed them templates all by myself, and they are quite pretty and charming. This self-analyzation is starting to seriously cripple my everyday life. I could attempt to explain that little tidbit of pertinent info in detail, but then I would get all tripped up by the hows and the whys, and I would end up as an immobile, filthy blob, lying in a pool of my own drool. I also happen to be something of an exaggerator (which is much different than a blatant liar by, like, 2 degrees), but please believe me when I say that I am lethargic. From thinking too much.

I wonder if there is some kind of mind-sharing program, whereby I can provide Republicans/Hell's Kitchen fans/Matchbox 20 enthusiasts with much-needed brain cells. They go up in IQ by nearly 20 points (thus rendering them liberal/having better taste) and I stop contemplating life so goddamned much. Win-win, baby. Although, even in this hypothetical, there is no cure for Asshole. I assert that punching (adult) people in the face would sometimes help.

Anyway. My point is that living inside my own head is extremely dangerous for a woman like me. Not only do I start examining every little thing people say or do in my presence, but I start thinking that I am some kind of Hippocampus Superhero (hey! Tim Kring! call me.): I not only attempt to read other people's minds, but I actually believe that I can. It is awesome, this ability. It causes others to become absolutely speechless around me, when I inform them of both what they are thinking and how they are feeling. Obviously, they immediately get down on their knees in front of me, kiss my feet, and worship me for the goddess that I am. Like, duh, all mere mortals should.

So, as any true goddess will admit, throwing in the towel when something clearly isn't working is the very definition of grace. (Side note: Hillary Clinton! Take the fucking hint already.) I hope to be graceful by, say, age 50. Instead, I am cleaning up my messed-up head, bit by bit. I am plotting a Course of Severe Action (CSA) to counteract my Hippocampus Superhero (HS) behavior, and I will slowly chip away at the CSA until I start seeing some results. I may write an ROI analysis at a later date, but I'll keep ya posted. I can only pray that my CSA leads to me some serious R & R (maybe on CL?), or at least for as long as SYTYCD is on. Essentially, the CSA is a chronological schedule of neurotic hopes and dreams. You know. To help me become less neurotic.

When a full-on genius in a white lab coat actually develops mind-sharing someday, I will totally be down with helping out the ignorant. But I will also submit a request for the scientist to leave my irony completely intact. I really love that shit.