Blank Brains and Bug Bites

Blank Brains and Bug Bites

For today's musing, lemme talk to the guys for a couple minutes, if I may. You ladies may read on, of course – you're always welcome - but let me hunker down with the males for a bit.

Did you guys ever have someone walk up to you and ask what's on your mind? Or say, “A penny for your thoughts?” Or have your spouse say, “What're ya thinkin' about, honey?” These queries seem to be invariably posed by a women. And you almost always turn to them and answer, “nothing.”

And mean it?

I know this a subject for stand-up comedians and we've all probably heard variations on this theme – how guys usually aren't thinking about anything and women are always thinking about stuff. Always. At least I know I have.

And I think there's way more than a grain of truth to the jokes and stories on this subject. You see, there are vast stretches of time where I'm not really thinking about anything at all! Nothing. Nada. Zip. Most every day. Oh, yes, there are some lights still burning in there. This is where I live and I gotta keep the machinery working and all that stuff. But actual thoughts? Naw, not really.

Maybe it would behoove me at this point in time to break down brain activity, at least my brain activity, into two categories. High-level and low-level. High level brain activity could be defined as where I'm actively speaking to myself, mentally, in English words, or working on a solution to a problem, or actively planning something, or learning something. If I'm trying to write a blog, like I'm doing right now, that takes a lot of high-level thought. Putting words together coherently, phrasing, deciding whether I want to talk about this now or that now. In what sequence I want to put my thoughts. How is the flow going and am I done with my present topic.

That's, to me, fairly high level.

Am I in that mode all the time? Of course not. If I hit high-level an hour or two a day that's probably about par for the course. The rest of the time? Low level. Just on cruise control. Just basic maintenance stuff – hungry/not hungry, thirsty/not thirsty, hot/cold, tired/energetic, sleepy/awake. Make the muscles do this or that. Eat. Doze. Maybe I've got an ear-bug and am hearing a song repeat over and over. Maybe I'm just in receive mode and am just soaking up the environment without making any judgments or internal dialog. Or reading and letting the words just soak in without pondering them. Or listening to music and just grooving. Or watching TV, the old mind number itself.

Or just in a pleasant fog with nothing much going on at all.

These low level thoughts, if thoughts they really are, generally are short and unfocused. They don't generate any spark or response and come and go like a variable breeze on a summer day. Oh, and sex of course. Gotta mention that. That crosses the male mind... fairly often I'd say. Maybe not every seven seconds, or fifteen seconds, or five minutes, or... well, you fill in the number. The rumor mill abounds with assertions on how often it happens. Suffice it to say, from personal observations, it's fairly often.

I have no idea whether this high-low thing is genetic, or something to do with the Y chromosome or possibly both sexes do it. But if women go low-level, they don't seem to talk about it much. At least that I can recall. When you ask them what they're thinking about, they'll tell ya!

So when a woman asks a man what he's thinking about and he says, “nothing”, you can generally take that answer to the bank.

He's telling the truth.

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I can be really, really stupid some days if I set my mind to it. And those episodes of stupidity invariably lead to unpleasant consequences. Always. I've been lucky that most of the consequences I've been subjected to, at least recently, haven't been in the life-threatening category, but there is usually some uncomfortable debt to be paid.

For instance...

Last week I went geocaching with my wife. We do this a lot in the summer time, usually on weekends when we can get together. On Sunday last week we headed out to search for a dozen caches or so. One of the first ones that we looked for was about a half-mile down a paved bike/hike trail in the county just south of our home. Since my wife had a buggered-up foot, she was basically just along for the ride. She didn't want to aggravate the injury, so she just sat in the car while I went searching. Like I said, one of the first caches to be found was down this paved trail, then off the trail a hundred yards into the bush, across a small creek and up a slight embankment. It was late spring and the woods that the trail passed through were beautiful with the trees all in full leaf, the birds singing, the air quite warm and the sun beaming down. We'd had a lot of rain the previous weeks and it was great seeing a day with no rain for a change. When I'd traversed the first half-mile, left the paved trail and started back into the bush area, I realized that I had forgotten to perform an action that I knew I should have performed.

I'd neglected to spray myself with bug dope.

I looked back down the long trail I had just walked. That'd be another mile or so and, as lovely as the day was I didn't want to have to walk that far again. So I decided I'd just get this one and spray myself when I got back to the car. Since we'd had so much rain recently, the insect population in the bushes was plentiful and joyfully waiting for me. The mosquitoes were thick and very, very hungry. I spent some long minutes swatting the blood-suckers while searching for the “treasure”. And ruing my lapse in preparation. Finally I found the cache, signed the logbook and returned to the main trail and thence back to the car. I was scratching a number of skeeter bites the whole way and mentally kicking myself for stupidity.

The rest of the day was similar but I was heavily lathered with repellent for those quests.

Unfortunately there were more vermin in the bushes on that fine Sunday afternoon than just mosquitoes. The next day I found myself itching again and I examined where the sensations were coming from. I found a number of reddish blotches and immediately identified them. They weren't mosquito bites. I'd got into some chiggers again.

Rats!

I'd had chigger bites in the past and knew I had a number of days to come where I'd be one miserable son-of-a-gun. And I have been. It's been about 5 days since the “infestation” and the incessant itching from the miserable little bumps is starting to ease off now.

Almost.

And so I guess I have to say, once again, lesson learned. Of course I said it the last time I got chigger bit.

Maybe if my brain wasn't in low-level all the time I'd have applied some high-level bug dope before leaving the house!