Love Me, Love My Hypothalamus, or, the Blame Brain Game
Blogging at this hour, pacific time, is not very cool in a variety of senses. It suggests a few things about the author that might not be true, like: that blogger is a vampire; that blogger is on speed; that blogger can't sleep because her ulcer is acting up again--all untrue assumptions, as it happens...but if you were thinking hey, she's an insomniac, then congratulations on your correctness! Never mind that my insomnia could be caused by any one of the above circumstances. Anyway, I was talking about some stupid stuff, trying hard to focus (I'm very tired, just not sleepy) when I went on one of my annoying tangents, which I will try to cease doing.....right now.
Here goes another attempt at my point. Why would I use some awful pun-phrase like love me, love a hard-to-pronounce part of my brain as the title of tonight's blog? Because I found a convenient target for blame about my insomnia: my brain. Now, I recently found out that my entire brain is not responsible--just one sneaky little section named hypothalamus. That's turned out to be kind-of a bummer since I've squandered more than a little time over the years knuckle-sandwiching pretty much my entire head trying to get it to FALL ASLEEP! Stupid of me, I know. I mean, it's painfully obvious that the hypothalamus was responsible for my wide-awake nights; the name even sounds hyperactive (and it begins with an 'H' just like the word 'hyperactive'. Coincidence? I think not).
Some smart people who've studied other people while they were sleeping have divulged some interesting results about how our circadian rhythms (those mysterious biological processes that cue us all on when to get tired, get energetic, burn calories, fart around, etc.) are instructed by the hypothalamus.
That funny little brain part is located, or so I've recently read, in the suprachiasmatic nuclei region of the noggin. I don't know where that is, but now that I'm aware that it's there, I'll try to jostle it less by thinking moorree sslllooowwllly. Evidently, we (not just humans, but all sorts of other animals) fall victim to inherited genes that dictate to some extent how our circadian rhythms work. That means, I think, that my parents are ultimately to blame---AGAIN, sheesh! By the way, Mom, why did you throw away my comic book collection fifteen years ago? Are you a sadist?
As per usual, I'm not sure of where I'm going with this, nor am I sure that some scientist who studies sleeping people (pervert!) won't comment that I'm full of crap and should do some fact-checking and use less hyphens while I'm blogging. But I don't care. I'm super-humanly brave when I'm tired and/or drunk. That reminds me--I'm tired and maybe, maybe, maybe, just a tiny bit sleepy. I think it's time to defy my genes and say,"Goodnight Mr. Hypothalamus."
Here goes another attempt at my point. Why would I use some awful pun-phrase like love me, love a hard-to-pronounce part of my brain as the title of tonight's blog? Because I found a convenient target for blame about my insomnia: my brain. Now, I recently found out that my entire brain is not responsible--just one sneaky little section named hypothalamus. That's turned out to be kind-of a bummer since I've squandered more than a little time over the years knuckle-sandwiching pretty much my entire head trying to get it to FALL ASLEEP! Stupid of me, I know. I mean, it's painfully obvious that the hypothalamus was responsible for my wide-awake nights; the name even sounds hyperactive (and it begins with an 'H' just like the word 'hyperactive'. Coincidence? I think not).
Some smart people who've studied other people while they were sleeping have divulged some interesting results about how our circadian rhythms (those mysterious biological processes that cue us all on when to get tired, get energetic, burn calories, fart around, etc.) are instructed by the hypothalamus.
That funny little brain part is located, or so I've recently read, in the suprachiasmatic nuclei region of the noggin. I don't know where that is, but now that I'm aware that it's there, I'll try to jostle it less by thinking moorree sslllooowwllly. Evidently, we (not just humans, but all sorts of other animals) fall victim to inherited genes that dictate to some extent how our circadian rhythms work. That means, I think, that my parents are ultimately to blame---AGAIN, sheesh! By the way, Mom, why did you throw away my comic book collection fifteen years ago? Are you a sadist?
As per usual, I'm not sure of where I'm going with this, nor am I sure that some scientist who studies sleeping people (pervert!) won't comment that I'm full of crap and should do some fact-checking and use less hyphens while I'm blogging. But I don't care. I'm super-humanly brave when I'm tired and/or drunk. That reminds me--I'm tired and maybe, maybe, maybe, just a tiny bit sleepy. I think it's time to defy my genes and say,"Goodnight Mr. Hypothalamus."
posted by Undercoverbean at 12:57 AM
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