A few days ago, I saw one of those Facebook memes that said something to the effect of, “Men, if you want to know what it feels like to be in the mind of a woman, just imagine a browser with 2587 tabs open.  All the time.”

It made me laugh because 1) I am the person with 2587 open at all times on my computer, and 2) my brain doesn’t shut off.  Ever ever.

Yoga and meditation has helped in that regard, but only minimally.  It takes a Herculean effort on my part to let go and stop the geyser of thoughts that are tumbling and tangling and pouring through my brain.  Sleep offers no relief, because I dream (vividly) all. night. long.

Yesterday I had an MRI – my third since my shoulder issue started almost a year ago – and you know what there is to do inside an MRI machine?  Nothing but think.

Here is just a tiny sampling of my thoughts, which likely took up the first 13.5 seconds of the 15 minute MRI:

The nurse who brought me back had really nice hair.  Long and black and super shiny.  Why did they have me take off my bra, which has no metal in it, and let me leave on my rings and my earrings and my nose ring which are ALL metal?  Why is this thing so small?  It’s really small.  I’m a pretty average sized women (5’7″, 135 pounds), and there’s no way that a big 6’4″, 350 pound linebacker would fit in here.   Do they have bigger MRI machines somewhere else?  Surely football players end up having MRIs all the time.  I wonder what percentage of pro sports players have chronic injuries and/or pain for the rest of their lives.  This position is really making my shoulder hurt.  I’m going to be in so much more pain after this.  Why is this thing so noisy?  You’d think that in 2013, when the technology exists to fit an entire computer in your pocket, that they’d be able to find a way to make it quieter.  Ear plugs, and headphones with music and it’s still loud.  If you’re fortunate enough to never have been in an MRI, it sounds like a jack hammer.   Not like a jack hammer coming in from outside on the street, but like you’re INSIDE the jack hammer.  There’s a deep chip in the paint above my head.  How did that get there?  The rest of the paint is… looking around… yep, clean and fresh and white and pristine.  What could have caused the chip?  Did someone freak out and flail around and bump it, causing the chip?  Even if someone DID flail around, what could have chipped it?  They’re not wearing a watch or anything heavy.  The thought of someone flipping out inside an MRI machine is unpleasant.  My heart’s definitely beating faster.  New thought.  I wonder if Spencer is still on the Spanish lesson website he was on when I left.  He seemed to be really enjoying it.  Is there *anything* you can’t learn about on the internet?  No, really, is there?  I really should have answered the MRI lady’s question about radio station preferences instead of saying, “Anything is fine.”   I do that a lot, I guess because of a need to be compliant and “easy”.  This station is playing, what, some sort of 70’s music?  And not the cool 70’s music either, but the waa-waa 70’s elevator music.  Not that I can really hear it, but every now and then when there’s a pause in the jack-hammering, it’s there:  put-me-to-sleep crybaby music.  I wonder, COULD I actually sleep in here?  Could I get that relaxed?  I’m actually pretty relaxed.  Deep slow yoga breaths of de-stress.  Yes, that’s nice.  Close my eyes.  Yeah… I can’t sleep in here.  I wonder what I should get at the Thai place tonight?  Play it safe with what I love, or branch out and try something new?  That’s really white paint.  And a really blue line.  If I cross my eyes, there’s two of them.  Seriously, HOW did that chip get there?  I’ll definitely get the Pad Thai….

And on and on, ad infinitum.  Until the nice young MRI guy pressed the button that rolled me out, lowered me down, and helped me extricate myself from the contraption that was holding my shoulder in place.

My husband, who often asks, “Do you ever stop thinking?” would have had a different experience in the MRI.  His version, and internal dialogue, would have looked something like this:

This is boring.

It’s exhausting being me.