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The humble stair case has fooled many of us, laying there like a silent killer. Waiting, just waiting for you to slip up. One minute you’re sat down stairs about to watch England’s opening game at the 2006 World Cup against Paraguay and the next minute you realise you’ve left your Official Pepperami Fanimal toy upstairs.
Time is of the essence.
The players are already on the pitch, anthems are finishing, there’s only thirty seconds to kick off. No time to spare. I dart off out of the living room and up the stairs, and that is when something goes wrong, maybe I lost count or concentration, or both. I imagine there is an extra step where there isn’t one, and do what can only be described as a brief marching motion. Knee high in the air, expecting a step that never comes. Embarrassing, but no one saw. Now, where’s my Official Pepperami Fanimal? OK got it! fanimal in hand, I run down stairs and it happens again, this time I count too few. I now try and take my last step when there is actually still 3 steps left. I feel like I’ve fallen 4 stories, my heart is in my mouth and I end up in my best Virabhadrasana. But I’m ok.
My brain doesn’t agree.
What my brain does next is it thinks I’m in danger, it thinks I need to be pumped full of adrenaline to survive. Now pointless adrenaline courses through my veins. One casual misstep and I now seem to have the strength and energy to move mountains and fight bears – at the same time. I don’t do any of these things, I just sat there pulsating like a nuclear power station while I watched the most dull 1-0 win you’re ever likely to see.
I made a misstep today, and whereas I can remember a specific misstep in great detail 12 years ago I genuinely have no idea what my misstep today was. But depression hit me in the same way. I was going about my business and my brain decided I was too happy, my mood was too neutral.
Let me sort that out for you Mindfump.
So there I was doing nothing in particular when my brain sets in motion a series of chemical changes that would condemn me to a day of depression. It felt as if I’d reached really high to get a book on a bookshelf at a library only to see, in horror, it slowly tip over and knock every other bookshelf over. And, I’m just left standing there, rabbit in the headlights, in the middle of the library, holding a copy of ‘Justin Bieber: His World’.
You’ll be relieved to hear it has gone for the most part. Or at least passing, just like the adrenaline leaving my body. The major downside to this misstep though is that it wasn’t even for an Official Pepperami Flanimal toy and my local library doesn’t even stock any books by the author Justin Bieber.
Read more, its good for you.