Falling out with my brain, purple storms and glass coffins

As I write I am amused about the way in which my brain likes to regurgitate memories, for some reason the bad memories seem to be stored closer to the surface.  I don’t know why it works this way but I presume this is normal and attempt to get on with my life.

Because the subject matter of dullboyblog is basically my life story you would think it simple to churn out witty and concise posts about things that have affected me, however, I am becoming increasingly aware that my brain is less of a friend than I at first presumed.

I have some very intense (yet darkly comical) stories to share with the cyber world in the future but I don’t want to rush into them just yet. (Mainly because as every newbie to blogging will understand it’s bloody hard to get people to read your blog and I don’t want to spuff my load too soon!)

I’ve made this venture to share my soul even more of a challenge by choosing to include future subject matter that is extremely personal to not only myself but people I am still intrinsically attached to, there are subjects and scenarios that such people would not want spoken of let alone scratched into the cubicle wall of the World Wide Web.  Because of this I am not publicising dullboyblog within any of my existing social circles, both web based and of the actual homo-sapien variety.  

Anyway, I digress, back to the memory thing...I decided to create dullboyblog after stumbling across a mind map I created one drunken evening which details a lot of things that I felt made me angry and sad inside.  With a less hazy view, after rediscovering said mind map in a sober condition, it became apparent that although my life so far is in no way a trauma filled sob story, it is potentially interesting and has a little of something for everyone. 

There will be stories that you would only expect to dubiously skim through in a glossy magazine, you know the ones ....“I gave birth to a bear!” or “My husband can’t stop eating rusty nails!” (neither of these two scenarios will actually appear) and there will be stories that make you wince, laugh, become angry and maybe even spill a tear.

So the reason I now doubt the strength of my relationship with my own brain is that the drunken mind map seems to have exhausted all memories I’m being allowed, I’ve maxed out my internal hard drive and as I said the memories within my brains rationing scheme all stem from something that makes, or made, me angry and sad.  

I don’t feel like I’ve had a bad time and bewilder myself with my inherent inability to conjure up even the smallest snippet of rose tinted reminiscing that I’m fucking sure must be dwelling somewhere within the depths of my peanut shaped head.

An example....dreams now elude me altogether.   

As a child I remember dreaming every night and waking up knowing exactly what I’d dreamt with a clear yet surreal imprint of the dream passed over from my slumber to my newly percipient self. Now, as an adult, I only very occasionally drift into consciousness with the blurry remnants of a dream, never any detail, never any real understanding of what happened, why, with whom or where.

The fact that I’m inept at retaining any understanding of where my brain goes when I sleep, coupled with my difficulties fetching memories from my over abused grey matter mean I have only two dreams that I can absolutely guarantee I’ve had, both make me sad and angry.

The first stems from a seemingly innocuous event when I was a very young child. I was taken to visit my Nan in hospital, she had cervical cancer.

In my mind the location is a vast grey building a long way from home, not dissimilar to the institute I visited my Aunt in.  When we arrived we were told that she was having several hours of treatment and we would be unable to see her as the treatment was completed in a sterile and secured room.   

We walked the grounds of the hospital and eventually found a high window that we were hoping to peek into to catch a glimpse of my Nan.  I was hoisted up to the window to see my Nan laying motionless in what I can only describe as a bulbous, closed top, glass coffin, she was receiving radiotherapy in the affected area,yes, actually internally 

Statistically 6 out of 7 dwarves aren't Happy

This vision became a regular on the bill in my childhood dreams and for unknown reasons was combined with the boys bathroom at my primary school, each time the glass capsule would be situated in the primary school toilets and it would usually contain my Nan although sometimes other loved ones and very occasionally myself (although I would still enter the bathroom and look at myself in the coffin).

The second dream I still today cannot fathom.  I am wandering through a generic old people’s home searching for something, I have no idea what.  The old people’s home, or rather one that bears a frown inducing resemblance to the dream location would several years later be built very close to my teenage home.

The weather is beautiful until I step outside to continue my search for the unnamed treasure and then the skies would immediately turn purple and furious, thunder, lightning and a deluge of oversized rain drops clouding my vision and forcing a frustrated retreat back inside.  I could never find and never did find what I was looking for. 

These repetitive dreams are the only ones I ever remember and although I’m sure there were also plenty which included superhero abilities, glorious victories hemmed with mass applause or gargantuan sugary treats it still makes me wonder.....have I forgotten how to dream?

Maybe when I patch things up with the old grey matter (a bit of Sudoku might do the trick) it will allow me the wondrous escapism that only a bleary eyed reminisce of the nights drowsy travels can provide.