It’s Thursday afternoon, I’m off of work, the sun is shining and yet here I am looking for a cat to kick.
My writing has slowed to the canter of a horse about to make it’s way to the glue factory; 1000 words a day became 750, then 500 and now it’s leaking out of me like a geriatric trickle.
Recently, I’ve tried to console myself with the thought that as I’m reaching the end, it’s inevitable that I will slow down – there’s simply not as much to write. That placated me for a while until I read back some of my old stuff and compared it with the new stuff. It’s much better. Even my blogs. What used to be witty, sarcastic comments are now just boring heaps of words, randomly arranged into paragraphs to keep up appearances. Put me a tannoy announcement out – has anybody seen my talent?

Nothing frightens me like failure – that and the onset of middle age. Also, did you know that Peter Pan Syndrome is not a recognised medical condition? It should be…I’d be able to retire on ill health.
The problem is, I’m now worried that my failure and ageing process are joining forces; something akin to a Kryptonite stake to the head.
In an effort to assuage my rampant paranoia, I’ve done some research on the human brain. It’s not helped.

As a human male, I should have around 19,000,000,000 brain cells. Not too shabby.
However, the ageing process puts paid to about 80,000 a day from age 20 onwards. I’m 31. That’s 321,420,000 gone that are never coming back. I’m down to 18,678,580,000.
Now, as I may have mentioned, I like a drink. Or ten. It is believed that an ounce of alcohol can flush 10,000 grey cells out of your ears whilst you sleep. An ounce is a shot. A shot is a ‘unit’. My last health check suggests I drink 40 units a week. I’ve been drinking since I was 16. That’s another 328,725,000. I’m now bumbling along with 18,349,855,000.
Take off the ones damaged through head trauma – that’s heading a football -, dehydration, and eating junk food, and I’m down to a lowly 17,523,000,000. About 8% of my brain gone.
That leads me on to the effects of stress and negativity. All this constant worry has a bearing on the brain and now I’m reduced to a grey cell count of 17,127,000,000.

Throughout my life, I’ve been exposed to smoke, paint fumes, aspartame, cleaning solutions, paint strippers and microwave popcorn. All bad things that reduce my mental capacity to 16,654,000,000.
I’m a poor sleeper – 16,237,000,000.
I have high testosterone – 15,934,000,000.

Theoretically, most of this damage has been done in the last 11 years. At age 50, I’ll be on half capacity. That means that by the time I’m 80, my skull will be completely empty.

Maybe I’d better get that novel finished whilst I still can.

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