Idle brain is devil’s workshop, an idiom that has stuck to my mind since I was a tyke and was trying to hammer something innocent. My grandfather was the one who used it, it was one of those rare moments when my scatterbrain would register things at one go. I have used this idiom on numerous occasions to describe destructive and lazy brains.
Someone who was once very dear to me loved playing destructive god, they would use their tiny head to bring calamities down because their mind was bored. Another of my friend in idleness thought her hand was canvas and would draw on them with needle, eventually they stopped when geometrical compass was inserted in the palm by a good soul. Few of my ‘creative’ friends love dwelling in depressing thoughts and try to churn out negative capability which Keats may have propagated.
This idleness seizes everyone once in their life, I have seen idleness kill ambition, another friend of mine is yet to figure what he wants with his life. One friend earned a year loss in college because of idleness. This idleness, I have read recently in a psychiatric blog, often paves path for depression. Especially when an active mind goes idle it suffers the most.
I am not the smartest or sharpest mind to walk on the earth, I am observing when I want to and a hapless romantic who hates cheesy stuff. Since I call myself the champion of self-love, I have always tried to keep my mind active. Its either with reading, blogging, fanfiction writing, doodling, fantasying about my future or watching films and series. Many would counter watching films and series is not an active activity for mind. Well I will counter with my brain’s experience, if things stimulate my thought process then they are allowed to keep my brain active be it a movie or television series.
Yet even in this active routine, my mind slips into idleness, sometimes words escape out of my mind, sometimes I just sit and stare at the page of a book for almost an hour and at another moment I just feel things are overwhelming me. Yet I remain unmoved, uncaring and idle. But these slips last for an hour or two. I regain my senses back fast enough.
This slips happen mostly in the non-existent season of spring. Its either my fertile ovaries suffocating because of breeding season or my fertile mind reacting at its incapability of finding a medium to keep me active. In these moments I can see things pile up on my floor, the wrappers of chocolates, empty packs of potato chips, boxes of cranberry cookies, ashes from incense sticks, clothes, napkins, books and books. I simply do nothing and watch them all settle on my bed, floor, window, bookshelves. My brain doesn’t turn into a workshop, but the living space turns into a devil’s lair.
For last five years, I have tried to keep myself engaged, I love being busy, if I am left without a task I would either sleep or wither away into crazy cosmos. Since last Monday, my feet have grown invisible wings. University loves celebrating festivals and the non-existent spring is its biggest craze. Though the town is well lit with green, bushy, healthy and happy trees and houses decorated in well-crafted flowers, the soothing air of spring is not here. Its summer, on top of that a biting one.
Actually my happy go spring self has possessed my head for more than fifteen days now. All I want to do is watch nature and write about it. Sadly, I neither have Wordsworth’s tranquility or Coleridge’s imagination. My poetry is half baked and imagination broken. I have been on the galactic railroad for a week now, I haven’t read a book, I haven’t written a word of fanfiction nor have I studied. For first time in my life, I have a blank of a week to look back at. I have played with colours, I have danced with random people to my heart’s content, I have flirted stupidly, I have partied with friends and decided to fall in love madly. But I haven’t left my room since Thursday. I am cooped up with so many thoughts, so many never happening situations, in an alternate universe I am with someone I hate, fear, hopes, uncertainties, all breaking inside my head, at least I could see my galactic railroad vanish and I crashing down to earth, eventually I broke my second glasses.
I did not go to university today, because I woke up with this crashing dream, I was so pregnant with words, that when I landed on the hard earth I scattered into never uttered or unheard words. I did not die, I just transformed into words. Grammarless and meaningful.
With this image of myself I woke up, sweating and panting, yet I could feel my room breaking upon me. My brain was so idle for a week that the workshop had morphed out into my room. That’s when I got Murakamied. I ditched classes, which will cost me few pearls of wisdom but to get back to my true senses I had to ditch classes.
I began to clean my room, re-arrange the green tea-bags on my window, I killed spiders and their webs, broomed out the dust ants had collected into a heap in the corner of my room, refilled my water bottles, washed my dirty clothes and finally decided to clean myself in hot water. I always use hot water, people find it weird, I agree it is, but hot water keeps my senses alive. Cold water numbs everything and I hate being numbed.
After finally gaining sense of this non-platonic reality, I spent my whole afternoon reading and finally doodling. I really loved being the hippie soul, for one week I was so detached, high strung on moments and temporary happiness that my essentials were beginning to fade. For once I did want to erase me, but who would replace my erased self?
This past one week was spent procrastinating in happiness. But now it’s time to burn the workshop and scatter the ashes.
P.S- I need to step out and redraw myself.
thanking you to bear with me