“I’ve realised why you don’t find ‘Chuck’ as funny as I do,” said my 15-year-old son recently.
“Why’s that then?”
“Because you spend all your time analysing it! Within 2 minutes of every episode you’re already predicting what’s going to happen before the end!”
“I don’t spend all my time analysing it. Besides, I’m usually right. Go on, admit it.”
“That’s not the point!”
“What is the point then? It’s fairly predictable…”
“The point is you don’t just let go and enjoy the episodes. You’re too busy working out what’s going to happen next.”
“I’m not working it out. It leaps out at me as clear as one of the ‘Flashes’ Chuck experiences when The Intersect in his head throws up information into his conscious mind.”
“But you’re still thinking about it.”
“In other words,” I say, “you’re accusing me of thinking too much.”
I sigh inwardly. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been told this - by friends, colleagues, other bloggers and, when she was still alive, even my mother.
It always seemed like an odd thing to say. I mean, of course I had thoughts. Lots of them. All the time. How could I not? Didn’t everybody? What was thinking too much anyway? The idea didn’t make any sense.
The irony of Rogan’s accusation is, these days my brain is only working at a fraction of its previous capacity and I’m so very aware that I don’t think anything like the amount I used to.
When my brain used to fire on all cylinders, bouncing all over the place, I didn’t have anything to compare it to. I was always making connections and seeing patterns between bizarre and unlikely things. If someone suggested an idea, I could run it through empire building scenarios, which if followed would result in global domination within 3 years. This was all perfectly normal.
But over the past couple of years, the CFS has taken its toll on my cognitive abilities. I can’t do heavy duty thinking for any length of time now without wearing myself out.
I miss thinking too much.
I miss having the energy that allowed me to.