Stalking the Waking Brain

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It is an image that, not surprisingly, occurs to me most often when lying awake in the hours just after midnight. A brain, not a floppy, oozing true-to-biology brain, but a cartoonish, cute, vaguely puppy-like brain scurries about in the imaginary space above me, avoiding my gentle net of sleep. It is a clever little critter. Just when I think I have it cornered it leaps away chortling  “Ah ha! How about matter and anti-matter? If there had only been a tiny bit more anti-matter after the Big Bang, it would have consumed all the matter and there would be no universe! What do you think about that?” And then it slips out of sight around a corner.   

I follow it down the stairs. Thinking I have it trapped on the landing, I raise my net, “Taxes!” It hollers and slides laughingly down a spiral bannister . 

“Did you lock the garage door?” “Do you think your hip will hurt if you sleep on your right side?” “Will shrinking sea ice doom the polar bears?” “Did you finish the PowerPoint for tomorrow’s lecture?” “Does love extend beyond the heliopause?” “Will we remember previous lives if we attain enlightenment?” “Are there enough eggs in the fridge to make an omelet for breakfast?” “What will retirement be like?” “Should we get a dog?” “Is Milton a silly name for a black lab?” “What is a memory palace and why do I keep forgetting to build one?” “Do people see colors the same way? Or do they see what I call purple when they look at what I call turquoise?" 

I plod gamely after the little bugger and, just as the rosy-fingered dawn begins to flirt with the eastern horizon, I find it curled up on the couch. Eyes tightly closed, it is sucking its little brain thumb, smiling and thinking secret thoughts.  Softly I slip the net of sleep around it. 

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