Construction Zone, Day 4.5: Autopilot

     I suppose the term autopilot puts me more in mind of the mind because it has in its construction more personification than does the term cruise control. The latter seems more mechanical, more of the machine than does the former.

     Autopilot does not require that you push a button on the steering column, it just happens. When I've caught myself telling an "old family story" on myself, when I've used self-imposed labels so old that if they could, they would be yellowing, when I've finished a sentence (or anything else for that matter) because I've started it and for no better reason...those are some of the many times I've been on autopilot.

     So since the dentist is (of course) on vacation and I cannot, in the near term, get that medical angle smoothed, I decided to take a very big leap, and one that is very much out of favor with everyone with a degree or an opinion, and go off my meds. According to the research I've done lately, SSRIs like mine do, yes oh yes they do, increase one's serotonin levels--well they actually just keep them from the uptake process so you can swim with them a bit longer--but in doing so they can also alter the precarious balance between serotonin and dopamine. Remember the last post and the opioid success? Opioids pump up the dopamine. It's been two days now, and that's the theory I'm riding till it drops.

     Autopilot also had me assigning random tasks to my children which I could do for myself. Contrary to some body of knowledge, I would advance that school is plenty enough work as it is. And with only three weeks left, and a few grades that need pulling up, I think that's about all they need to be concentrating on. I told them, "I'll take care of the dog herd, the cooking, and the cleaning. You guys work on your grades." Another experiment. We'll bait the hook and wait for a giggle.

     Think about the things you do and say and ask yourself why. I mean, why take advice from a crazy woman, but do we feel the same way about our choices after we've paused to consider them as we do in the moment of their birth? If not, maybe they aren't our original thoughts. Maybe they aren't us.

     As I wait for the path ahead to become clear, I'm going to ponder what's gotten me to this point on the map, whether it's a valid destination of not, and where I need to go from here. Sometimes detours are just that, other times they can save your life.