|sent from:London, UK. destination: Los Angeles, California, USA|
I know I’m getting older. The mirror reminds me everyday. Inside, I don’t feel older. When I think about it, most days I feel more alert and fitter than I did 15 years ago. The only time I really feel the weight of being older is when I’m tired, sleep deprived. Like today, at work early after a punishingly long Sunday working, and an incomplete night’s rest. I can hear the words people are saying, but I can’t connect the dots. My brain misfires, insists I need toast and chocolate and then punishes me for giving it just that. Oh God, my self critical voice says, you don’t know what you’re doing. Look at all these people, they have it figured out, and you’re floundering. At the end of the day when I should just leave, my lizard brain says NO. I need to make up for my cognitive handicap by staying and making a lot more crappy decisions. I feel guilty for leaving, for giving up when I should push through, as if somehow that’s going to help. The harsh critic is in full swing – you don’t deserve to be doing this, he says. Brain chemistry is a strange and wonderful thing. In the morning I will begin anew.