I readily admit that I'm a complete idiot sometimes. Unlike other idiots, I am usually the first to admit I am a complete idiot and I normally admit it even when I am merely a partial idiot. I admit my stupid thought processes when I have them and people seem to appreciate that a lot.
The time I killed a moth and my daughter said, "Mom, why did you just kill that tortilla chip?" Yep, that went on Facebook. The time I thought there were little black and white bugs in my bed until upon closer inspection they turned out to be poppy and sesame seeds from my daughter eating an "everything" bagel in my bed that morning... yep, I put that up on a Facebook post immediately.
I love to laugh at myself. That poor tortilla chip and the "bug" seeds are powerful examples of how the brain can tell you one thing, you completely buy it, and it turns out to be false. You feel like an idiot. And for just that one tiny moment, sadly, you are. There. I said it. You are an idiot sometimes and I am too.
Sooooo, let's discuss the power of suggestion. I'm reading multiple books at the moment, but the one by my bed is called My Stroke of Insight. It's about a neuroanatomist brain scientist who suffers a stroke and lives to tell about it. I hadn't even cracked the book open yet when I had convinced myself that I had probably had a stroke. Why would I think this? Three irrational reasons:
- I'm having problems with my voice, specifically that at 42, I have developed a mild case of what I like to call "old lady voice."
- I heard a strange noise in my head recently that I've never heard before (I said noise, not voice).
- I choke on my own spit or a harmless drink of water for no reason, more often than previously.
I've had these problems over a span of probably 6 months. Just the other day, however, I finally decided to look in the mirror with a flashlight to see if something might be going on in my throat, like esophageal or vocal cord cancer. Is that a cancer? Well, if it is, I was convinced I probably have it.
The flashlight revealed... wait for it... inflamed tonsils. I think I have tonsillitis. I was relieved. Even though it could still be a growth of some kind posing as tonsils, I don't know. I don't recall ever having tonsillitis before, so I'm not sure what problems it can cause or what it really looks like. But trust me, I've looked at all the images on Google and that's probably what it is, even though mine doesn't look exactly like any photo I saw, so I can't be sure. FYI, I have a doctor appointment for next Tuesday to confirm my complete or partial idiocy.
In short, I'm having ENT problems. Ummm, that would explain numbers 1, 2, and yes, 3. I am not dying after all. Well, I am dying a little every second, lurching slowly through life toward my inevitable death, but aren't we all?
This irrational thought process made me think of the power of suggestion. Your brain can conjure up things that aren't there, aren't true, aren't reality -- before you ever grab a flashlight to see what the light reveals. Let me show you what I mean by sharing a few valid examples of frontal lobe idiocy:
The neighbor kid comes over after being diagnosed with head lice. Your head itches and you feel things crawling after the kid leaves, even though you don't actually have head lice. Admit it, I'm right, aren't I? Not only that, but some of you are scratching your head right now just from hearing me talk about head lice. See?
|See any lice in there? Nope, me either.|
And whaddya know, the gray hair post picture came in handy again!
You run into a friend who has recently had the flu. Immediately afterward, your stomach feels queasy. You think it feels queasy. It isn't queasy. You are fine. You are healthy. You don't have the flu and you didn't get the flu from your friend, but for a short period of time, you think you must have the flu simply because you were exposed to the flu.
The preceding examples are called psychosomatic responses. Your mind thinks about the reality of these conditions and you physically react. I can't count the times I have had some symptom and I get on the Internet to research it, only to convince myself I have the worst case of whatever-it-is-itis there ever was. "I'm dying, I just know it. What am I going to do with my remaining time? I'm not done on this earth." The truth is that I am only dying in the sense that I am one day closer to my death every day that I'm alive. Period. End of story. Cindy Brown lives on as we speak. Whoop-ti-do.
Humor me and tell me if you've had a brain fart, a time when your mind conjured up the unreal. I'd love to hear that I have fellow idiots. I mean that in the nicest possible way. I love my idiots. You are the wind beneath my wings.