It’s 6.30 in the morning and I’ve been up an hour already doing all the ‘zen’ things. I’ve journalled over a cup of herbal tea and meditated in silence. I’ve just made my first cup of velvety black coffee and I’m now outside in the beautiful garden, surrounded by birdsong and a strong, misty breeze.

Why then, will my dear sweet mind not bloody shut up?!

Despite the previous hour of silence, over a year of practicing this daily morning ritual, despite the beautifully quiet, calm dawn… it just won’t shut up!

I sit on my cushion and I don’t even see the swirling grey in the sky or the dancing swaying trees because my brain is off on a lecture about the hysteria people are getting caught up in online these days and I don’t even know who the hell it’s yelling at.

“Now I won’t judge those caught up in the drama, well, I certainly will endeavour not to – my desire, no my intention is purely to acknowledge what we’re getting sucked into. Of course my judgemental analytical mind may have some unfortunate tendencies to criticize slightly…”

SHUT UP!

SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!!!

It’s like a fucking crazy person jabbering away to themselves, pacing down the street towards you having a full-blown conversation with an imaginary audience.

If I met me on the street, I’d cross over to the other side straight away, hoping not to attract any attention from this unhinged lunatic.

That’s my fucking brain!

A rabid dog constantly looking for something or someone to bite.

A toddler who’s drunk several sugary double espressos and is currently bouncing around the walls of the house tormenting you with their demands and senseless babble.

It’s Donald Trump on speed.

It’s a cat with the zoomies in the middle of the night, crashing up and down the house, eyes fully dilated, yowling like a banshee.

And it never – fucking – stops.

And because it never stops, it tends to repeat its nonsense over and over, often with an annoying song playing in the background. A bit like this:

Oh, I forgot to pay the car tax, shit, I’d better do that today, that’s going to cost a pretty penny, where did that saying come from? ‘Baby, mmm where the hell is my husband, mmmm….’ Why would a penny be pretty? Unless they meant that money is pretty, which it’s not because it’s dirty and symbolizes our greed and our selfishness and I’m so selfish, I just want to get clothes and more barefoot shoes. ‘Mmmm, babeeeee, where the hell is my lover…..’ Actually could really use a couple more sweaters, they have nice ones in Tesco at the moment. Ah shite, I’ve to do the shopping too, we’re nearly out of hummus. I eat too much of that, is it good for us? I ate far too many chocolates as well last night. As usual. ‘Mmmmm, mmmm, getting down with another…. I’m a bad human, a bad Mum, I’m so tired of feeling bad. Ah dammit, really must sort out the car tax. ‘Mmmm, baby, where the hell is my lov’ god that song is annoying….

And on and on. And apparently I’m one of the sane ones. So….

I’ll stick to my morning ritual anyway. I just might need to ramp it up a bit, make those twenty minutes of meditation more like three hours, see if that has any effect on the internal monologue that’s right now, trying to figure out how many chocolate biscuits I’d have to eat to actually vomit.

Dear sweet mind of mine…. shuuuuuuuut uuuuuuuuup!