Except My Brain Quit

I wanted to write a new blog post last night, except my brain quit. (You should know that I would’ve been charming, eloquent and funny. I’m just sure of it.)

I wanted to do some laundry last night, except my brain quit. (Psst… I’m using wanted rather loosely.)

I wanted to finish my kids’ enrollment forms for school next year, except my brain quit.

I wanted to feed myself, except my brain quit.

Do you know what you can do while your brain is stuck in a never-ending loading loop?

A loop that looks like this?


Apparently, you can make a piece of toast.

Of course, you’ll find it 3 hours later in the toaster, popped up, cold and stale.

So you’ll plunge it down again. Just to reheat it to the point that butter will melt into the potholes and drip out the bottom and tarnish your pajama pants with translucent butter stains so you can feel good about yourself both now and forever.

But you’ll forget about the toast the second time until you hear the POP! from the other room and RUN back to the toaster as though the speed with which you hurry will magically prevent it from being a blackened ruin.

My toast was a blackened ruin.

Apparently, when your brain quits, you can make a piece of toast. You just can’t manage to eat a piece of toast.

If I had a perfectly buttered piece of toast for every time my mama brain went into overload lockdown, I would have a LOT more pajama stains, you guys. This is my silver lining.

In other news, I powered down my brain, and I’m attempting to restart it. I thought sleep might help, but in my brain-dead state I forgot I don’t get enough sleep to use it as an actual power source. My slack-jawed, vacant stare says caffeine’s not working, either. And the “Mom? Mom? Mom? MOM? MOM?” attempts of my children aren’t having the desired effect. For them or for me.

Not to be extreme or anything, but I’m afraid if this continues I might have to get some fresh air and exercise. Or buy a new brain.

Maybe tomorrow, I’ll write a real post.

Until then, I’m just going to hang out.



ABOUT BETH WOOLSEY I'm a writer. And a mess. And mouthy, brave, and strong. I believe we all belong to each other. I believe in the long way 'round. And I believe, always, in grace in the grime and wonder in the wild of a life lived off course from what was, once, a perfectly good plan.
  1. Wow, I can SO relate to this post! The other morning I poured the coffee beans straight into my cup. It was full before I realized what I was doing.

    1. Teehee! Thanks for sharing your brain-loading moment, Tennille. SO FUNNY. And so something I’d do. Awesome.

  2. We’re all there with you, Beth! Microwaved tea and all. Keep going and keep smiling. Sending love and encouragement. You should see the state of my house! xxx

    1. Have you seen Finding Nemo? Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. 😉

      As for us, we swim through the mess. But it’s a privilege, right?


  3. My brain quit too! Case and point: I stared at the screen waiting for the picture to “load.”

    1. me too, it still won’t load… Beth, what is supposed to be ‘loaded’ and why won’
      t it?

      1. apparently brains aren’t the only things that are quitting!

        1. Oh, man! See? I was afraid of this. My bad on communication. The loading is all it’s supposed to do! You know – like how a brain is supposed to load… but doesn’t??

          I think my brain wasn’t working well enough to explain it in the post. Sorry for the confusion! It’s only gonna load and load and load forever and ever. Just like my brain.

  4. My brain quit too! Maybe they have a union and are on strike?

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