The Town Drunk

Oct 11

Once or twice a week, I’ll be minding my own business at the local watering hole when the town drunk saunters over and starts talking to me. “D’you believe this shit? Damn, you’re stupid if you believe that. You were never any good, but you’ve gotten worse.”

All too often I engage with him, and it never goes well. The back-and-forth drags late into the night, and neither of us walks away wiser or victorious.

Even when I know exactly how it’s going to go, sometimes I can’t stop myself. But I’m getting better. Sometimes I acknowledge him, then look the other way until he shuffles off.

OK, now go back and read that again, but replace “at the local watering hole” with “in bed” and “town drunk” with “intrusive thoughts.”

Sometimes it’s really hard to turn my brain off. I can be dog-tired when I hit the hay, but something clicks and I ruminate deep into the night. It goes so deep that I stop stewing on the original topic and start stewing on the sleep deficit I’ll carry into tomorrow.

I think it runs in my family. My dad never complained of sleep issues, but he was good at stewing on things. It wouldn’t surprise me if he stewed at night like I sometimes do.

What helps me:

Exercise. Physical exhaustion helps me shut down at the end of the day.
Last Hour Ritual. No screens. A book, maybe some music, sometimes a shower. A consistent shutdown routine primes my system for sleep.
Meditation. I observe thoughts, then release them without engaging. It’s great practice for ignoring the town drunk.

The Town Drunk may keep rambling at me, but I choose to ignore him.

Sunday Supper

Rosemary Garlic Pork Tenderloin & Sweet Potatoes

Fall Harvest Salad

Bacon-Jalapeño Stovetop Mac & Cheese

Chicken Thighs with Creamy Mustard Sauce

Apple Crisp

Sunday Music

Live Covers of A Tribe Called Called Quest

Gustavo Dudamel & Herbie Hancock Celebrate Gershwin

The War On Drugs on Austin City Limits

Tim Bernardes at the NPR Tiny Desk