My Bairn Brain Brian

never trust a young brain, but always listen to it

I hate my brain. Henceforth named Brian (primarily because all villains should be named Brian (or Gary)).

Why do I hate Brian? Brian is young. Now. She wasn’t always young. Between the ages of 1 and 25, Brian was quite old. Ancient. Especially during the rough teenage years: 1979 to 1993.

Also, Brian is a she. Girls are better than Boys, and Brian knows it.

But now, as I have chronologically surpassed that (totally non-arbitrary) point on the number line, she is young. So young. I can feel her carefree-ed-ness seeping into the windows to my soul (the eyes. It’s poetical, dummy.) with a heady scent of don-give-a-fuck.

Brian is tired. She’s incredibly tired of the heaping great wodges (used without permission) of responsibility heaped (as one would expect) upon her metaphorical shoulders.

Basically, Brian (still my nemesis even though we are on a first-name basis) tried to warn me (starting some time around 1998 or so) that being a grown up is for suckers. Loser-level suckers who want their life to suck so much that a black hole is jealous.

I think Brian wrote that last sentence. Reads like her stuff…