A letter to my brain

Dear Brain,

I love you. I appreciate you immensely. My conscious side of you can't even begin to comprehend all the things you do for me or the complexity of how you work. I would be no one and nowhere without you. You have my lifelong heartfelt self-pumped thanks.

Could you please do me a favor? When I go to bed, could you please just take a rest? That's really all I ask. I don't want you to shut down completely. I want to reward you for everything you go through for me every day. For the things you process for me and the things I have buried deep in your recesses that you don't make me face on a daily basis. Thank you. Take a much deserved break. Please. I implore you.

We don't need to imagine earthquake scenarios every night. We don't have to go through all the options for furniture arrangement in our new apartment. We don't have to make a design for a shelf that would hide the litter box in the bathroom. And when it's time for bed, we don't need to worry about anything or anyone. We can reserve that for the upright hours.

Last night I tried to help you. 9:15 pm, I'm brushed and washed and in bed reading to try to slow you down. Lights out twenty minutes later. We're exhausted. My eyelids snap shut like brand-new tupperware. And off you go. To the races. You wouldn't even stop after I took an Ambien two hours later. When I finally fell asleep, you were delightfully contemplating the hallucinations behind my eyelids that were created by your refusal to succumb to the drug's delightful induced stupor.

I'm going to give you another chance, and most likely, another after that. Let's face it - we're in this together, for life. I'd really appreciate if we could reach some sort of compromise. You know where to find me. I eagerly await your response.

Sincerely,

Lauren