Why is my brain so messed up?
Why, as I was toasting frozen waffles, did it randomly start trying to map Jesus and King Arthur onto each other? Why did it start trying to work up a Sekrit Truth of Jesus wherein Mary Magdalene was in the Guinevere role and Judas was probably Lancelot unless he was Mordred or maybe both?
What is wrong with my brain?
You have trained it that This Is What We Do.
And, y’know. It is.
It’s like training a dog for hunting and then having it go bounding off after everything that moves.
We (most of us) like having Ista lick our faces. Dog spit is antiseptic, and we are sufficiently Dog People that it’s sort of friendly-like to us. But it’s been, shall we say, a process, teaching her that this doesn’t mean she can lick the faces of everyone she likes. And especially she can’t lick the ears of everyone she likes, because some people go absolutely through the roof over that.
My spec-fic-writer-brain is very like that. “Ooh, this is nice! *slobberslobberslobber*”
It feels like my brain is licking people, furniture, houseplants, and so on.
BTW, Ista is a small poodle, right? I think I remember you mentioning that at one point, which is now fighting in my head with the established mental image of her as a standard poodle.
Ista has developed the habit of licking the spine of whatever we’re reading once, with a posture I can only describe as “polite.” (“This thing is important to you, monkey? Well, okay then. I’m sure it’s very fine.”) Once we figured out she would only do it once and wouldn’t come chew or anything, we decided it was okay.
The name of this icon is “Ista grown”: this is as big as she’ll ever get. (Edited to add: just to be clear, I’m holding her in my arms.)
Her breed is miniature poodle, which is the middle size, but she came out runty, so she’s only as big as a toy poodle. Healthy, though, and we didn’t have a strong preference between toy and miniature anyway. Miniatures are supposed to be between 15# and 40#, and Ista is 11#.
I have no idea why she became fixed in my head as a standard poodle. There’s absolutely no basis for it, in anything you’ve ever said about her.
But it means that if I ever see her in person, I will have a bit of cognitive dissonance.
It’s all right. She does, too. She believes herself to be Big. Also Tough And Fierce. And will wag merrily while demonstrating her Tough-And-Fierceness for you on her nearest toy.
That’s probably why.
It feels like my brain is licking people, furniture, houseplants, and so on.
Heehee!
You’re a writer, folklorist, anthropologist, and all-around intellectual type. It’s not a bug, it’s a feature.
Thank you, Customer Support. <g>
It’s Fomenko’s New Chronology!
<has another aneurysm>
<dies>
I blame the Waffles.
But I hadn’t eaten them yet! If there was crack on them, it hadn’t gotten to me yet!
they have ninja ways of getting into the brains…
It’s not your brain. It’s the waffles. Never trust a waffle.
Um, perhaps you have ready too much “Holy Blood, Holy Grail” and things are getting squishy.
Then again, damn good idea woman!!!
I would gladly take that in trade for my brain’s “Joseph Smith was a woman” Secret History theory.
Too few symptoms to diagnose. Try adding:
must write novels written in history times
secretly thrills at crazy amount of research necessary
totally obsessive!
