WOACA DATES HERSELF
The WOACA was trying to reason with her brain.
This was not going well.
“Think about it,” said the WOACA. “Wouldn't you rather have one beautiful, generous glass of wine, lots of delightful crunchies, and then go to bed?”
Brain said nothing.
“You'd sleep better.”
Nothing.
“You'd wake up rested.”
Brain stared at her.
“Less bloated.”
Brain's expression changed slightly.
“Better scale numbers.”
“Dopamine!” demanded the brain.
“Ok. Think on this. There is the body’s figure. Three weeks, Brain. Look what we've.. YOU’VE.. already done in three weeks. The body is changing. Clothes are fitting differently. We feel stronger. There more dopamine in that. Progress dopamine! Task accomplishment dopamine! So really, if you think about it, I'm not asking you to have less dopamine. I'm offering you considerably more dopamine spread across a much larger period of time.”
Brain folded its arms.
Steady dopamine wasn’t as exciting as Friday Night Party on the Couch dopamine…
The WOACA interrupted.
“One glass dopamine. Crunchies dopamine. Cozy bed dopamine. Pretty new old vintage slip and kimono dopamine. Good sleep dopamine. Sparkling water or cozy ginger tea dopamine. Wake up feeling good dopamine. Better scale number dopamine. Catching Ass looking particularly good in the mirror—”
“I am part of the body too.”
The WOACA stopped.
“What?”
“I said I am part of the body too.”
“Of course you are, sweet Brain.”
“Unseen.”
“Oh.”
“Unappreciated. Overlooked.”
“No! No, you are extremely appreciated. You're arguably the most important part of the entire—”
“THEN WHY DO YOU SPEND SO MUCH TIME LOOKING AT THE BODY'S ASS?”
The WOACA blinked.
Brain had apparently been holding onto this for some time.
“Ass, ass, ass. Stomach, stomach, stomach. Thighs. Arms. Waist. Face. Neck! Have you ever stood in front of a mirror and said, Damn, look at that frontal lobe?”
“Well, technically—”
“Don't.”
The WOACA didn't.
“I get the children up,” Brain continued. “I remember what everybody needs. I work two jobs. I go to store and buy $100 in food I don’t consume. I buy fast food I do not consume. I remember passwords and problem solve sign in issues or printing issues or internet connectivity issues. I keep track of appointments. I create stories. I solve problems. I manage sadness. I manage other peoples emotions. I manage boredom. I manage other people’s boredom. I manage hunger. I manage Husband. I manage children. I manage pets. I manage YOU.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
“I appreciate you.”
“You appreciate Ass.”
From somewhere considerably below them came a muffled voice. It was not gass.
“I appreciate it.”
“STAY OUT OF THIS, YOU ASS!” said Brain.
Ass withdrew from the conversation, easily done because there was never much of it. She dreamed of bubbles. Not the gassy kind.
Brain was furious now. Or at least frustrated with pops of anger. It was always much more complex than people gave it credit for. Overlooked as always.
“I have worked every single day of your life.”
“Yes.”
“Every day.”
“Yes.”
“I even work when you're asleep.”
“I know.”
“And then, after everything I do, you come upstairs and say, ‘Brain, could you please stop wanting wine?’”
The WOACA considered this.
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh. I heard where you were headed.”
Brain turned away.
It had the peculiar energy of a sulky teenager, an overworked employee, an older lover who feared it was no longer desirable, and an addict who knew perfectly well where the dopamine was kept.
The WOACA sat beside it.
“What would make you happy?”
“More wine. More wine nights. We wend down to two.”
“Well, to be fair, we tried one glass a night and it slipped into considerably more. And then it stopped feeling so wonderful. And the scale went up. And our energy went down. What would make you happy that doesn't make tomorrow worse?”
Brain opened its mouth.
Then closed it.
This was apparently the first time anyone had asked.
The brain had been fighting restrictions. Battling punishments. Guarding again scarcity. Life had been life-ing very hard and wine was a release valve and a pleasure.
The WOACA waited.
“Music,” Brain said finally.
“Yes. But not so much Ebay vinyl.”
“Loud.”
“Obviously with ear buds.”
“Writing something ridiculous.”
“Yes. Always!”
“Beach cruiser lazy rides, not always power rides, but power rides too on the mountain bike. Those kick ass.”
“Hey!” Said ass. But smiled. She liked to be included. She was overlooked as well. She missed being called a “cute little butt.”
“Yes. to the bike riding.”
“That workout mashup with the naught songs on it!”
“Certainly.”
“Crunchy salty things.”
“Absolutely.”
“Making things.”
“Yes.”
“Laughing.”
“Yes. Laughing out loud is harder these days isn’t it?”
“Yes,” brain nodded. Less friends and more obligations. “but Laughter with the kids kicks ass! and singing in car to Hole with daughter is next level!”
“Continue, this is all very good.”
Brain glowed. There were lots of alternative sources of dopamine.
“Fresh clean sheets.”
“Oh, that's a good one. and how about one excellent glass of wine in the immaculate goblet with the special wine tag on the stem.”
The WOACA considered it. One glass.
“Acceptable.”
But brain was suspicious.
“All different types of dopamine.”
The WOACA smiled.
“Yes.”
Brain thought about this.
“You have been managing this department very poorly.”
WOACA allowed the firing across the bough.
“I see that now.”
“And stop staring at Ass. And trying to take pictures in mirror. Weird-O.”
“Meeting adjourned,” said the WOACA.
That evening, the WOACA did something she had not done before.
She took Brain on a date.
There was scented candle.
There was music.
There were delightful crunchy things arranged on a little plate instead of eaten standing in the kitchen.
And there was one beautiful glass of wine.
The WOACA raised it toward the general vicinity of her own forehead.
“To you.”
Brain looked around.
“Me?”
“You.”
Brain softened.
The WOACA leaned closer.
“You are magnificent.”
Brain said nothing, but was listening very carefully.
“You are complicated.”
Closer.
“Vibrant.”
Brain liked that.
“Creative.”
Very much.
“Sexy.”
Brain practically glowed.
“You notice things other people miss. You create things out of chaos. You transform frustration into humor. Sadness into soulfulness. Absolute alchemy. …you remember things I wish you'd forget.”
“Careful. That is Gerald not me.”
“You kept me alive.”
Brain went quiet. That was almost too much truth in that.
“You make me laugh. You make worlds. You make stories. You get children out the door in the morning. You care for their emotional well being and security. You show up for your husband in creative albeit sometimes cringy ways. You carry grief and grocery lists simultaneously. You are an absolutely extraordinary organ.”
Brain was eating this shit up.
Nobody had ever talked to Brain like this.
The WOACA lifted her glass.
“To my beautiful, sexy, vibrant Brain.”
Brain lifted its imaginary glass.
“To us.”
They drank.
Brain looked at the little plate.
They scooped up the artichoke and spinach dip on a tortilla chip.
There was a pause.
“Brain?” said the WOACA tenderly.
“Yes?”
“Is that kale?”
The WOACA looked down.
Oh dear.
