Sweaty Sweaterson

This week, I had several days of stinky sweatiness. My armpits were creating a stinky contrails. Day after day. You can’t help but wonder: “What is wrong with me?”

Of course, it’s unpleasant.

And it was a new sensation. I actually don’t sweat that much at my age – especially since I lost so much weight. (Not shown in that pic, almost a year old.)

Your brain begins to supply answers. Stupid, Anxious answers.

Maybe, it’s stress.

Maybe, I’m sick.

Could this be a medical side effect?

Is some organ failing?

Is this kharmic payback for…. (fill in the blank)?

Well, I spent the week sniffing, worrying, showering, laundering, sniffing again… wondering how serious a situation this might be.

Your body knows things — my brain supplied. You need to see a doctor. You might be dying. Did you google it?

I’m a smart person, but my big beautiful brain does not like to be caught up short. If it doesn’t know the answer, there’s going to be drama.

As the week progressed, I was actually down, overwhelmed. I felt like I am bad at solving problems. Small dilemmas piled up. Should I take up this project or that one? I can’t figure out what to have for breakfast. I felt defeated and bad at stuff.

This made me think: STRESS.

My brain created stress and indecision to explain the stinky sweat and not the other way around. Do you know how I know?

I finally figured out that my deodorant was empty, and I’d been rolling on nothing for days. No ban. No secret, no dry idea. No dove. No love. I wasnt’ stressed or ill or losing my mind. I was out of deodorant.

So, no matter how smart you are, you can’t trust your brain. (Already my active, craven brain is whispering to me: do you think it is smart to tell them how stupid you were? What makes you think it’s okay to brag about how smart you are?) Egos, am I right?

Hope you’re all well, LMK if I can help you with writing, creativity or a plot problem you want to talk through. I love to hear your the stories you’re cooking up.