As I said before I know very little about the way the brain works & circadian rhythms are an enigma to me. How is it that once upon a time mornings were my sweet time, the time of the day when I did my best work. Morning shifts at the hospital, not a problem. Early morning sports training, bring it on! Any time of the early morning and I was Little Miss Sunshine! My sister on the other hand could sleep till lunch and at the time I’m certain I thought she was part owl. So how is it that some many years later (too many to say exactly!) the tide has turned and my night owl sister is happy to get up at the crack of dawn and I content to still be in bed at noon on my days off?  I know they say that long-term shift workers will always have sleeping rhythms that are out of whack, but what changes have happened to my brain so that night time has become the time in which I do my best work. I would rather stay up late finishing a project and sleep in the next morning than get up early to finish something that could have been finished the night before! It’s a conundrum that to this day has me puzzled. What hasn’t changed is my need for a decent amount of sleep each night, anything less than my optimal number of hours counting zzzzs and I am not a happy camper.

I also used to be the sort of person who wore my heart on my sleeve, you knew exactly how I was feeling every second I was feeling it. I think I will always err on the side of what I like to call passionate but some would call emotional but I would say that over the last few years when it comes to the big stuff I am much more likely to become introverted and withdraw until whatever the storm is has passed. I’m not saying that either is better, and I’m not sure how or why things changed but over the years I have become a big believer in “whatever works”. I would like to think that a little bit of life experience, coupled with (hopefully) a little maturity  has taught me to temper my emotions. It’s not the only thing that time coupled with a little bit more life experience has taught me. I have learned not to be what Dr Phil calls a “right fighter”. To use another Dr Philism (yes there is such a word!) you can be right or you can be happy and sometimes you just have to pick your battles. I do NOT have a perfect record on this one and have been known to engage in online battles with perfect strangers from places all over the world on issues of “I’m right and you’re wrong”. These arguments are completely fruitless of course and, at the end of the day banging my head against a brick wall would have been infinitely less painful and/or frustrating! Hopefully a further passage of time will help me to curb this habit so I can channel my time into more productive pursuits.

Another area I am yet to master is late nights playing the “what-if” game and doing the head miles. It is another fruitless exercise, but sometimes the night time head miles are really hard to avoid and the peace of mind required to sleep is sometimes very hard to find. Unfortunately there have been too many nights when I have been absolutely physically exhausted and have practically dropped into bed, only to be wide awake and staring at the ceiling long into the night. It has set up a bad habit of needing to have either the TV or radio on to fall asleep. I don’t know why it works, maybe it’s the distraction my brain needs to turn off the self talk enough to sleep but until I can come up with something else that works I’m going to stick to it. It doesn’t matter how many times the logical part of my brain tries to appeal to the irrational side of my brain, the concept of nothing to gain just doesn’t compute. What’s worse, the journey the “what-if” path leads you down, more often than not leads to self-pity which is not a good look. I seem to give in to both the what-if AND the self pity far too many times than I should, something I hope one day to overcome. Hope springs eternal, and I like to think I am a work in progress.

Another part of the brain that is a complete phenomenon to me is that funny little recess that stores memories. I have plenty of lovely memories and even though I can’t always control the triggers for them, there is something really lovely about my day being interrupted by a smell, or a photo or a phone call and sometimes even an ad on TV which immediately transports me back to  particular times and places. A few days ago an ad for Arnotts biscuits came on TV.  In a moment I am in my great-grandmother’s kitchen, sitting by the wood stove as she boils the kettle for a cup of tea. Us kids line up for lime cordial and then wait expectantly for the cookie jar to be brought out knowing it will be filled with Scotch-Finger Biscuits. Nan pours tea for the adults and Pop carves tobacco from a block for his pipe. It has been at least forty years since that memory but I still remember it like it was yesterday.

I was in the bank one day and the person in front of me was getting change, amongst which was a roll of 20 cent pieces. Similarly to the story above in an instant I was in my Grandad and Grandma’s house looking longingly above the fridge at the rolls of 20 cent pieces that my Grandad kept there and would give us to spoil the grandkids when we would come for a visit. I can see the smile on his face and can still remember the routine Grandma would go through before we could leave the house to go down to the Warrawong Shopping Centre to spend our money. My cousins would almost definitely be there and the sounds of laughter and   excitement and silliness that accompanied these occasions still warm my heart to this day. Coins also remind me of Christmas time and Grandma’s Christmas pudding. I can see the muslin it’s wrapped in and can smell the brandy. Grandma had some shillings she had saved and would put them in the pudding. Mum and Aunty Lyn would carefully make sure that each of us kids would get a shilling in our slice which we would then trade for money. It was always lots of fun, not the least of which was the time my brother swallowed one!

I hope you’ll indulge me with one last memory. It’s not life changing or remarkable, but it is precious. It’s my four kids and my husband and me sitting around my dinner table. It’s laughter and good-natured teasing. It’s the clatter of dishes ad rattle of cutlery. It’s the same wacky sense of humour. It’s hugs and kisses and “love you”s. I can see the table set and dinner on the stove. I can see all four of my kids spending time together in a way that shows they will love each other cradle to grave.I can also see the argument over whose turn it is to do the dishes! I am very grateful to whichever part of the brain that stores  all of these memories because as well as making me smile, I also feel a love that is almost palpable.

So, at the end of all of these musings I am no closer to figuring the way my brain works, and truth be told I probably won’t try. Instead, I’ll just enjoy the journey, and to quote a scarecrow whose life ambition was to get a brain “I will think of things I’d never thunk before, and then I’ll sit and think some more”. That way, to quote him again “perhaps I’d deserve you or be even worthy of you, if I only had a brain”.