There’s a Party in My Tummy!

So yummy! So Yummy!

Then there are the days I get to cheat the depression, as if I’ve cheated death. But, as the expression goes: Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Because when the depression subsides, the racing thoughts increase ten-fold. According to a recent Self article written by Amanda Schupak, “we have 40,000 to 60,000 thoughts a day, and we’re usually worrying about our past or our future” (quoting Lynne Goldberg, meditation coach). If my calculations are correct, my racing thoughts average closer to 100,000 a day. (I’m actually guessing, but I figure, “close enough.”)

My racing thoughts aren’t all negative, however. I plot and scheme — I may totally reconfigure my fall Composition syllabus. Time for a new textbook (and new assignments…. and in-class activities…. all new… new, new new)! Or a random thought might lead to hours researching on Google Scholar and/or EBSCO-Host. My parents have been in town this weekend, and my mom even pointed out to me when she could see my mental wheels whirling and whizzing (I may have been speaking more rapidly…).

But the racing thoughts aren’t like a day at the races: the thoughts don’t just bolt out of the gates, full speed.

No. My racing thoughts saunter in — kind of like DJ Lance from Yo Gabba Gabba. My thoughts seem really hip like that. Heavy, thick glasses. Day-Glo Orange Vans. Mutton chop sideburns. Bright jump suit and tall, furry bearskin cap, like something a psychedelic British Foot Soldier would wear.

Gulan Bollsay DJ Lance Rock 2010

Gulan Bollsay, “DJ Lance Rock,” 2010, Flickr,


The thoughts are hip. Until they are not.

The first thought is always chill — until it opens up that giant boombox. Then all of the other monsters come tumbling out. Sometimes they explode.

MrSmashy Brobee 2009 Flickr

Mr. Smashy, “Brobee,” 2009, Flickr,


Here’s the line-up for today:


Children: He’s tall and crazy.


Children: She’s pink and manic.


Children: The little mean one.


Children: She likes to taunt you.


Children: A grand delusion.

Let’s all come and play with DJ Lance Rock today.

Yo gabba gabba!

Yo gabba gabba!

Yo gabba gabba!

Yo gabba gabba!

Yo gabba gabba!


[My nerves are usually shot by the end of the dance. Then I really do have a party in my tummy. But not so yummy, so yummy. These parties typically end with me sick in the bathroom for several hours.]