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There is something about standing under a shower and having a cleaner and fresher you emerge from the grubby version of before. A strange byproduct of a bath, in my case at least, I don’t know about you, is how my gray cells jiggle into activity like crazy, shooting off messages left, right and center, all at the same time too. By the liveliness they exhibit, one would think it was THEY who were having that rejuvenating bath and not I.

Well I have nothing against them enjoying the bath along with me, or even their breaking into frenzied activity while at it. I am a courteous person by nature and willing to accommodate any level of unorthodox activity by others, but… but, do they, I mean the gray cells here, really have to go crazy when I am under the shower?

If the readers note a certain petulance in the above statement, and conclude that if ever there was a blogger with a grievance to air, that blogger is this blogger, they of course would be absolutely right. If I had my way, I’d take each one of them out, gray cell by gray cell, tweak their ears, and put them back in their place with a warning to behave in a more responsible manner.

No, no, no. I am no spoilsport who wants to put an end to merrymaking by the gray cells, or anyone for that matter. In fact I am all for joy and celebration. Bring it on, say I, because ultimately, the more the gray cells make merry, the greater the good, and all of it, mine alone. My only request, and a reasonable and very humble one at that, is to choose the time and place for merrymaking.

What’s the use of high-level gray cell activity when I am wet and soapy? What’s the use of pushing all those bright ideas into the forefront while I am in the shower, that instead of having a calm and relaxing bath, I am left standing motionless, my eyes staring into nothingness, with one hand holding the bar of soap, and the other on the tap, feverishly writing a post in my head?! What is the use of giving of their bounty when I am helpless to process their messages and give the bounty a concrete form?

The irony is how when I am actually sitting in front of the keyboard with a blank document open on my laptop screen, all eagerness for them to get going doing their jiggly jig, the thingamabobs go silent on me. They actually pretend that it is winter inside my brain and they are in hibernation in some deep crevice in its folds, where they can neither hear me nor can let themselves be heard.

Today morning they were at it yet again. They flashed two bright ideas inside my head in neon colors getting my attention pronto, making the Pears soap slip off my nerveless fingers, leaving me standing in the dripping water for a good five minutes as if stupefied, only to be woken when the L & M banged on the door to ask if I’d be getting out of the bathroom any time soon in the year 2014.

Jolted out of the stupor, I had quickly tucked the luscious juicy ideas away, to feed upon at a more opportune time later in the day. Come evening, I sit with my laptop on my knee, rubbing my hands with glee, and cordially invite the gray cells to come sing their song so my fingers can tap dance on the keyboard.

But what do I find?

Them cheeky gray cells have chosen this precise time when they should go into overdrive with their activity, to disappear into total inactivity. The ideas they so generously showed me in the shower, they have shrouded carefully, forcing me to have to think on my feet (Thank you, feet!) and come up with something for today’s post for NaBloPoMo. Such irresponsible behavior, I tell you! Is it any wonder that I want to kick each of them, cell butt by cell butt, for playing games with me? You, good people, be the judge of that. As for me, I am going to sleep. Goodnight!

NaBloPoMo January 2014

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