Old dog, new tricks, and a brain that should honestly be fired

Let’s be clear:
I am not old.
I am simply at the life stage where strangers feel comfortable calling me “ma’am,” and I feel comfortable fantasising about throwing them into oncoming traffic.
Charming, really.

I’ve recently decided to learn Hebrew, Greek, maths, and intellectual property procedures — simultaneously, because I’m obviously in my self-destructive renaissance period — and what I’ve discovered is this:

My hippocampus has quietly excused itself from all cognitive responsibility and is now living its best life somewhere far away. Possibly floating in the Kinneret. Possibly drinking Arak. Definitely not here.

Every day I learn something new. I understand it. I feel triumphant.
Then the next morning arrives, and my brain, looking like it hasn’t slept since 1998, announces:

“We’ve released your memories into the wild.
They’re free now.
Good luck.”

This is not personal growth.
This is cognitive malpractice.
My own neurons are committing HR violations against me.

And don’t imagine any of this material is mystical, poetic, ancient, or complicated.
It’s all modern.
Streamlined.
Optimised.
The kind of thing digital natives inhale with their iced coffees.

Meanwhile, I’m reading the same paragraph as though it’s the encrypted diary of a time traveller.

People love to call this “lifelong learning,” which is adorable.
No.
This is adult-life hazing, but without the camaraderie or snacks.
This is me performing intellectual CPR on my own working memory, whispering, “Come on, sweetheart, you can do this,” while my brain wanders off to pet imaginary cats.

“Old dog, new tricks” is not motivational.
It’s an accusation dressed as a compliment.
It’s the universe dumping a pile of existential admin in my lap and saying:

“Try to keep up, darling.”

And I’m over here saying:

“I DO keep up.
I try to keep up.
But my brain has left the building, taken the cutlery, and isn’t returning my texts.”

Some days, my cognitive drive functions perfectly.
I am brilliant.
Sharp.
On fire.
A terrifying intellectual weapon.

And then the next day, I try to conjugate one Hebrew verb, and suddenly I’m a Victorian invalid being lowered into a fainting couch.

Honestly, I think I’m simply too mentally overstimulated to store any new information.
Or under-stimulated.
Or mid-stimulated.
I don’t know.
It changes hourly.

But here’s the thing:
Despite the chaos, the attrition, the slow-motion internal mutiny… I keep learning.
I keep showing up.
I keep installing updates onto hardware that is 100% sending anonymous complaints to the IT department.

Not because I’m noble.
Not because I’m admirable.
Not because I’m “investing in myself.”

No.
I keep going because I am too stubborn to quit and too unhinged to accept defeat.
Because somewhere between exhaustion and delusion is the engine that keeps my entire life running.

So no — I am not an old dog learning new tricks.
I am a gloriously unstable software update, installing itself mid-crash, mid-chaos, mid-existential crisis, and somehow still managing to function well enough to frighten people.

And honestly?

That’s the trick.