Flat Brain Goo.



Have you ever had your brain turn to goo?

I have.

It is right now.

I am stream-of-conscious-typing this right now after staring at my screen for twenty full minutes.  It was like those 3D pictures from the 90’s where if you stare long enough and let your eyeballs relax, a picture of a ship will jump out at you.  Everyone would always yell, “Ahh! I see it!”, “Oh! It’s a ship!”

Whatever ship I’m looking for has clearly sailed.

I scrolled through my notes on my phone to jog my memory about three blog posts I know I wanted to write.  I had no desire to write any of them anymore.  They seemed flat…

I’m flat.

Everything has been sucked out of me this week.

Teething babies are cranky and sleepless.  Preschoolers with coughs are cranky and sleepless.  Husbands with too much on their plate are cranky and sleepless.

I went to an appointment yesterday to get an ex-ray on my knee and they told me I couldn’t do the procedure because I had my one year old with me.  They couldn’t allow him past the double doors because of the radiation, and I have no idea why I hadn’t thought of that before hand.  They asked me if I could call someone to come and watch him for 45 min to an hour.  I laughed weakly.  They asked if I wanted to come back at the end of the day after I schedule some help. I said, “I don’t have help”.  They asked, “What about tomorrow?”  I said, “I don’t have help… ever”.

Today I am deflated.

Tomorrow is new.

I should sleep.

My brain is goo…

flat goo…

a goo pancake.

Now I’m hungry.




5 responses to “Flat Brain Goo.”

  1. Alison says:

    Eat a pancake. At least that’s a resolution to a thought. Also, food.

  2. Jen says:

    Can I just tell you, I have been feeling the same way. It’s my own flaut, I have said yes to too many projects and to be the helper with too many things. I can’t even see straight anymore.


  3. Hugs to you. I don’t have help either. Ever. I’ve never hired a sitter. My kids are attached to me until this things called school happens.

  4. Alexandra says:

    Oh, I am so sorry.

    I remember what this feels like.

    when you’re in it, it’s more than you can fit into your mind.

    But when the days are gone, you’ll remember none of this.

    You won’t.

    You’ll just wish for those days when your children still fit on your lap.

    I still sympathize, because I remember thinking I’d always be the mother of small children.

    I love you, Jenni.


    Also: I wish I loved two blocks from you, so I could get my little boy fix, and you could your me time.

    And your knee X-rayed.

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