My Brain Drives Me Insane — Every Night

It doesn’t let me sleep and wants all the chocolate — at midnight

If you don’t like the ‘nude guy’ in the above image or the dude’s tool — hey I’m referring to his illuminating-head — I recommend you stop reading this.

Same applies if you can’t handle one or two or three F words, e.g. flower, flour, or fuck, in a story.

Close the browser or medium app — whichever applies to you.

Wash your hands with soap, and continue searching — how to make $9,585 writing on Medium!

You haven’t left, I see. Okay, let’s talk about my crazy brain.

“I used to think that the brain was the most wonderful organ in my body. Then I realized who was telling me this.” — Emo Phillips

At night when I’m about to sleep, my brain starts thinking deep. Great ideas start flowing; to an extent, I become delusional about my writing skills.

I can’t become famous overnight, it tells me, but the next article will go viral, it can foresee.

I jump out of my bed, like a cat, my paws not making any sound, ensuring I don’t wake my wife or son up. I reach downstairs and pick up the laptop.

Let’s write.

Crickets. Silence. Nothing happens.

Okay, maybe, my brain needs some sugar. I get a bar of chocolate. Is my tummy hungry, I start thinking, shall I have an omelette? No, that’ll be a bit too much. I’m not hungry as such. I open the fridge door. Blueberries, strawberries, or cherries? Maybe, some yogurt or custard. Too many options. Can’t decide. Let’s just drink some milk and pick up another chocolate. Or two. Enough, three are enough. No More.

It’s midnight.

Back at my typing seat. Brain, now, you’ve got all the sugar, the stomach is full too; let’s write.

No instructions. Nothing. Crickets again.

“What the fuck, what am I typing, tell me more”, I yell.

No response. All the great ideas which were lucid to me, while I was in bed, are nowhere to be found.

“I can write without you”, I declare.

I start typing about Agile. No, it’s fragile, I need to write about something else. Pandemic? I’m sick of it. Management? No, a billion articles are already there, nobody reads them. Self-help. Yay. With a clickbait title, I pretend to be an expert, and write about shit I don’t even know — X things to save your life, X things will make you better. Great. Or maybe not. Definitely. NO.

Humor! It’s not difficult to type funny shit. But Wait. I’m not in a pub and people are not drunk; ready to read my shit and laugh their asses off, I tell myself.

“Nobody will laugh reading your humor article”, my brain challenges me.

“Oh, now you’re talking. Wanker. You’re not helping.”, I shut it down.

Yes, Humor it is. I write. Rewrite. Delete. Write again. Fuck it. It’s not working.

“I’ll write tomorrow. No more fighting, brain.”, I give up.

“ha ha ha ha”, I can hear the fucker laughing.

Something is wrong with my brain.

But what do we do now? All of that sugar has kicked in. We watch that new Netflix show — The English Game or whatever it’s called.

Oh, yes. Me likes it. I watch two episodes, and it’s already 2 AM.

Cheesus Crust and Holy Macaroni!

I should go get some sleep.

Because after 5 hours, at 7, my son’s gonna wake me up, reminding me: “daddy, see, sun is already out (even if it isn’t); it’s wake-up time. You can’t sleep anymore”.

I promise myself, I won’t pay attention to my brain’s silly thoughts, tomorrow night. But, then, every night, unable to fight, I jump out of my bed. And the story restarts.

Connect with Salam, you won’t regret having a friend like him, and during this craziness, it may also bring some Calm.