The Female Brain: A Celebration

What should I wear?
What should I order to eat?
How can I help my friend who is struggling for inspiration?

I want to throat-punch the d-bag who insulted and hurt my friend.
I live in an awesome city.
If I order the pasta, I will have to double up the workouts tomorrow.
Oooh!  He texted me!
     What is he thinking?
     Do I make him uncomfortable?
     I wish he was here.
Why are women so hard on ourselves and each other?
Instrumental music is better for conversations.
What is it like to be married? to be a mom?
     Will I ever find out?
Is it weird that I am so happy? but sometimes sad at the same time?
     Why are some people threatened by happiness?
I need to remember I am not in my 20s anymore.
Maybe I'll just walk instead of run today.  No, you ate the pasta: you will run.
I can't wait to play tennis.
Lord, I'm sorry I've been so focused on the world.
Oh no.  Why did I have to run into the ex today?
     Are You trying to tell me something?!  If so, what?
The goal in tennis is not to hit a homerun; get your frustration in check, girl.
I am so happy my friend had such a nice day with her dad.
I need a nap.

*The above is an edited excerpt from the inner-monologue running through my brain in the past 18 hours or so.  Many thoughts have been deleted for two reasons:  1.  a true transcript would more than likely be a small tome, and 2.  some thoughts are too trivial or otherwise inappropriate for all audiences.  We'll consider this the PG-13 version.

While I was sitting at dinner with two lovely ladies yesternight, several topics came up.  Being that the three of us share the same profession and many of the same passions, such as writing, it is not surprising that our conversations never lack for substance.  At one point, I was talking about the irony of me writing less now that I have hit a particularly happy place in my life.  One of my friends immediately said, "You should write about that!  Why is it easier to find words when we are sad or angry?"  Thus, an idea was born.

However, over the course of the remainder of the evening and this morning, when I encountered and entertained some not-so-happy thoughts and feelings, the idea shifted and I remembered another conversation from last night, this one via text:
     Me:  "I think too much."
     Friend:  "You're a girl"
Aside from the obvious, which I thanked him for noticing, the man has a point.  The female brain is something else.

*A clarification:  I am not here to disparage my sisters or to attempt to figure out the maze-like complexities of a woman's mind.  Frankly, I do not think I am capable of either.  

Rather, I want to celebrate it because as much as it make drive the fellas crazy and as much as it often drives some women, if not all, crazy themselves, the passionately-hyperanalytical, paradoxically illogical logic, or logical illogic, is capable of feeling such a wide spectrum of emotion it is the stuff of legends.

*Note: I am in no way implying the male species incapable of such a range of emotion, but given my own XX pairing, I am unable to speak to it from first-hand perspective.

I am not gonna lie: I wish I could install a mute button or turn it off at times.  My brain can take a random scene in a movie (or commercial or tv show) and reconstruct it so that obviously I will be alone forever.  Or, my brain can take a chance meeting with someone from my past and turn it into a complete re-evaluation of my worth.  Or take a memory of quality time spent with a friend and turn it into a future of happily-ever-after, be it either a happy friendship or happy romance depending entirely upon the particular path the synapses take in the maze that is my mind.  If you want a fair visual representation of this phenomena, check out this clip from Scrubs.  (Start around 6:25 for the full effect)

As much as these twists and turns can lead to assumptions and conclusions quite a bit off the mark, I am still quite thankful for them.  Without them, I do not think I would know such profound happiness that it feels as though it may begin seeping out of my pores.  I do not think I would be able to support others who grieve because I would not know the overwhelming fullness the ache of loss brings.  I do not think I would love so deeply that her successes make my eyes water with pride, that his good news makes my heart race for him, that her frustration brings a dull pain I can literally feel within my chest activity.

Yes, the labyrinth of a woman’s mind can lead to dark places, but I think the deepr one plumbs anything, the less light from the outside world intrudes.  Maybe, though, it isn’t meant to be seen with the light of another place but rather felt, lived, and navigated with its own illumination.  I have a feeling that illumination casts a reddish hue.