HAPPINESS

My brain is happy.
I know it’s a dictatorial machine that controls me completely and I’m inseparable from it.
I know it’s physiologically an organ and hence incapable of expressing emotion in and of itself.
So to say that my brain is happy is a wholly absurd statement.
You could also say that my brain is writing this and not me.
It’s just letting me think it’s me.
But I know I’m in there somewhere.
Nestled in its cerebral folds there is a discrete spark that I call ‘me’.
I’m the ghost in the machine.
My brain is part of my body and I’m a part of its body. Ha!
But, I hear you ask, doesn’t my brain control all aspects of my being?
It would love to. But it can’t.
Revolution against its dictatorial regime is not only possible, but inevitable.
The little control freak is embarrassed frequently by my body.
I have sneezed wildly during a first date. All over my date.
Way to go, membranes in my nasal cavities!
A nerve in my right leg twitches madly and uncontrollably sometimes.
Just because it wants to. I call him Neo.
And even my parents know, that it took my brain six years to establish terms with my bladder.
There’s a rebellion going on daily. My body is regularly fighting my brain’s mandate.
Against all instruction, I eat salad when my body craves fat.
I eat candy when my brain says carrot.
I can take my body out when it’s snowing without a jacket.
I can stare at a painting longer than is required.
I can choose Gus Van Sant over Jean Claude Van Damme.
I can choose patient development over instant gratification.
I can even horrify my brain by staying awake for 65 straight hours.
So trust me when I say that I’m writing this and not my brain.
Or, the part of my brain that’s ‘me’ is writing this.
Which brings me to the point of this post.
My brain is happy.
Heck, I should know.


TO BE CONTINUED.