It’s full. Completely crammed full. There is no more room. Not an inch of space, a centimeter of air, a millimeter of light. It is so full that things are falling out. Important things. Like children’s names. The time I need to wake my kids up for school. My name. It has actually become a problem. So much so that I have been to see a therapist. Me. And a doctor. Also me. After a lot of research I wanted to share that I Have Been (Self) Diagnosed with Brain Overload Syndrome.
Now, before you take all of the evidence into account that proves I have officially lost my mind, let’s make one thing clear. I already am aware that I have. All you have to do is look at my lifestyle to determine that. Six dogs… S I X… three kids and an inability to say no. All of that adds up to the chaotic life that I seem to think I thrive on.
Granted, two of the dogs are foster dogs and, granted, my children are my life’s blood. But the inability to say no is a hampering one. It causes my mind to constantly have to be on full alert to remember all of the promises and agreements that I have doled out.
This has become an Achilles heel for me.
Case in point:
This morning I woke a little later than I like at 5:30am. I was fully rested, however, so I was OK with the extra half hour of snooze time. I turned off the alarm on my phone. You, know, the one that goes off every 10 minutes so that I don’t forget anything. I thought I only turned them off until 6:30am but I turned them all off completely.
I blame my phone for not warning me that I was taking the ‘turning off’ thing too far.
In any event, I sit down at my computer to work and realized there were 7 or 8 things I had forgotten that needed my attention. Nose deep in my work and completely oblivious to the time, I barely looked up. Until 6:55am.
My daughter has to be at school at 7:30am. School is 22.5 minutes away. This was a problem.
I rushed to wake the kids promising everything from more TV time to a real unicorn pony if they would get up – without complaint – throw on the first clean clothes they could find – matching not required – and get their butts in the car by 7:05am.
We made it at 7:08am. If we hit at least half the lights we would make it.
As I rounded the car around our neighborhood pond on the way out my oldest asked if I had grabbed her homework. Which was due today. First period.
I had not.
Shocking, I know.
We circled back to the house, my mind counting the minutes furiously, thinking that if we were lucky enough to have 70% of the lights green, we would still make it.
Katie ran in, got her homework and I peeled out of my neighborhood in a slightly obscene way.
There may have been some tire squealing.
Off we went, slightly over the speed limit – and by slightly I mean, definitely – headed towards school.
On the way my middle daughter reminded me that she had early music practice. Which I had forgotten. My youngest reminding me that she needed something for a project that was due. Which I had forgotten. My oldest reminding me that she has to be at school early and then late and then early again for all of her clubs. Which I had forgotten.
I let my oldest daughter out of the car with about 2 minutes to spare. I told her I loved her and then called her by her sister’s name to which she smirked and said, ‘Gee, thanks Mom.‘
I drove my other kids to Starbucks to grab a muffin since I had not fed them – because I had forgotten – and managed to get Sarah to school for her early morning music club.
I then dropped my youngest daughter off and headed home with a sense of pride that I had, at least, managed to get everyone where they were supposed to be safely.
I pulled into my drive way and saw that my yard men were there mowing the lawn. They come on Wednesday’s. Every Wednesday. And I had no money to pay them.
Because I had forgotten.
See? Overloaded. My brain is just too full. It’s kicking out information that I clearly need in order to fit in everything I have said yes to.
Brain Overload Syndrome is a condition. I know it for a fact. Because I have it. In fact, I have a pretty severe case.
The cure is to say no every once in a while. To have a glass of wine. To allow some things to pass me by.
I’ll let you know when I am able to remember to actually find the time to be cured.