If you’re anything like me, then some things are started that just don’t get anywhere near completion. Sometimes it’s sad when I clean out my file storage. Yesterday, while backing up, and doing general cleaning on my files, I discovered the miserable state at which I have left my notes and such. I have another load of unfinished laundry in my mental washing machine. They range from half baked stories to essays with no conclusions, project proposals and ideas that should have been set in motion months before. It’s ugly, how my brain farts are all over the place.
There comes a point when you are desperately out of anything to wear and you are left to two choices: sniff each one of your articles of clothing to see if there’s anything that the mold haven’t got to yet, or roll up your sleeves and fire up the washing machine. I should be firing up the washing machine, I know. Though after careful sniffing, here’s something I wrote eons ago that the mold hasn’t got its fungal fingers on:
Have you ever been constipated before? You want to poop but can’t, however hard you tried? (Actually, if you tried hard enough you might get yourself hemorrhoids.) Anyway, bad bloody images aside, constipation is a bad, bad thing to have. Good things come to those who cannot shit though, as there are drugs available that can help you (nope, this is not an ad) whereas you can’t drink anything to cure constipation of the brain.
When one gets brain constipation, ideas refuse to be shat out and sentences that were there a second ago vamoose into thin air. This is typically bad news for somebody like me, who like the girl in the Dulcolax commercial feels terrible, out of sorts, and irritable. The difference between me and the girl in the commercial is that she doesn’t get paid to empty her bowels, I on the other hand, am paid to write.
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