My brain works very logically. Everything needs to make sense, to add up. Long years an accountant. If something doesn’t make sense – and a surprising number of things don’t – then that causes my brain to whirr round in ever decreasing circles, a bit like a computer about to pronounce “does not compute” or “computer says no”.
I need it to make sense – and my brain goes there first. Can I make logical sense of this? Yes = good. No = let’s try emotional sense next. Still no? Bummer.
I want to know “How does that work?” This is a question quite distinct from “How’s that going to work?” No idea. Don’t care. Don’t need to know, I’m a Creator for heaven’s sake. Move aside, there’s a BRAIN working here!
This morning a couple of chaps from the drain company were round at my behest. I spoke to a lovely lady in the middle of the night and relayed my symptoms and she got it completely,she’d heard it all before too, and knew precisely what I was on about – and trying to avoid – and it was her job to call out Mutt and Jeff which she did perfectly. They didn’t agree when they got here, a bit like when you take your car to the garage and the men can’t find the fault which you know must be there – is there – because it’s behaving differently, or making a different noise. And all the while you are just trying to prevent a problem, anticipate breakdown potential and nip it in the bud, get i’ sor’id as we Londoners say.
And honestly? I think they know precisely what you mean but they just can’t be bothered today, so they deny the problem. That’s what happened with the drains guys and let’s face it, who can blame them? It’s a bit chilly for drain work today and it’s the Friday before Christmas and we all just want to skive off, and partay… we’ll all re-group in the New Year feeling renewed and we’ll sort out all the problems then, when we’ve got no excuses, noses back where they belong, on the grind stone.
But logically I know what’s going on down in the drains and I know I’m right, dammit! I’ve lived here for years and the symptoms equal the problem. They always have before, ergo they always will. Logic, see? I know what’s coming. I’ve given them early warning and they don’t want to know. On their head be it, but if it ruins my Christmas they will be hearing from my lawyers.
It’s a problem being brainy, by which I mean – rather – brain-ish, which means my brain clicks in first, not last. X = Y in my world, as night follows day. I shall take no pleasure in saying “told you so”, in fact I shan’t even bother to waste my breath or smile smugly, when I am up to my knees in raw you-know-what, and my neighbours are too. But was I nice to them this morning when they denied me? No. They got short shrift. You don’t want to be provoking that in JM. Hell hath no fury.
My fictional hero, Lee Child’s Jack Reacher, is a lot like me except that he, righter of wrongs, avenging angel for the disadvantaged and disenfranchised, lives off grid and outside the system and fights it from that place often with a weapon, and he’s 6′ 6″” and people often take him a bit more seriously than the middle aged Pink Lady, even though I am dressed in my black ninja outfit today. Jack believes that some things have no answer, they just are. And he’s right when it comes to disasters and deaths and sundry unfairnesses. Doesn’t stop my mental computer trying to work it all out though and, in the case of the drains, to attempt to save everyone time and hassle and the poo. And I feel frustrated when they don’t get it. But they will, they will and probably more of the poo than any of us want for Chrimbo.
As Paul Newman playing Butch Cassidy in my favourite film said:” Boy, I’ve got vision and the rest of the world wears bi-focals” and it’s a challenge I tell ya. A curse. Paul? You and me both, mate. Too brainy for our own good and look where it got you? Dead, that’s where, in a hail of bullets which (illogically) I still expect you to best each time I watch the film again. [Note to self: must do that over the hols, its been too long since I fell in love with Sundance, all over again.]
Mind you, sad to report…it works both ways. My best friend would be the first to tell you that, for a brainy bird, sometimes I can be incredibly stupid.