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Dear Brain, WTF is Wrong with You Now?

The crazy dreams are back. I thought we settled this!

Photo by Vladislav Muslakov on Unsplash

Hey there brain,

Let’s just cut to the chase. What is your problem now? I thought we mentally hugged this drama out, and our relationship was on the mend. However, I can’t help but notice that your mind-f*ckery has returned.

Not long ago, I demanded an apology from my body for the near-wetting-the-bed experiences. Now, I’m starting to believe it’s not my body at all: Just you, and I can tell you’ve gone entirely cray.

Want to know how I can tell you are the culprit and not my body sabotaging me? Because I’ve been treating myself better recently, and I thought you’d join us on this bandwagon. I have recently reduced how much alcohol I’m drinking and relearning what mature adults call “moderation.” I’m even starting to work out more again and eat more fruits and vegetables.

My body seems to have caught onto this healthy, new-and-improved me, but obviously, you — smarty pants — have not.

My body has bounced back in a lot of positive ways. My stomach doesn’t hurt as much, and my piss doesn’t look like someone just broke a neon lightbulb into the toilet. You might want to get with the program, sister.

I can see you scratching your neocortex in confusion. Your dream selection has moved from malicious and making me almost piss the bed as a grown-ass woman to completely weird. Need examples?

Last week, I dreamed that Lady Gaga and I went to an amusement park together, and then I motorboated her chest. Seriously? Now, don’t get me wrong. I love Mother Monster — and I had some crazy party days — but I never in my life imagined myself motorboating another woman’s boobs; certainly not a celebrity.

Need another example? Four days ago, you made me go on a skylift knowing that I am terrified of heights. This was not any skylift, either. It went all the way from Kanas City to Denver.

I have personally made that sh*tty drive over nine hours, and every second of it sucked, except for seeing the wind farm and the two-headed calf. I never thought that experience could get any worse, but you found a way.

Last night, you took it to some next-level sh*t. I dreamt that I would have to arm-wrestle a shark or he was going to eat me. What is this? The Suicide Squad? First of all, I have the upper body strength of a book nerd who just hit puberty. Second, sharks don’t f*cking talk, and they definitely don’t have arms.

Quit your sh*t and let me sleep.


The rest of my body

Recommend0 Simily SnapsPublished in Humor, Personal Narrative, Satire, Self-Help, True Story