My ex-mag mate Kelly shared a story on her Facebook feed the other day from Business Insider with the title: “Journalists drink too much, are bad at managing emotions, and operate at a lower level than average, according to a new study.”
Not the most catchy of headings … sigh, subs were such awesome things, I miss them. Now it’s all cost cuts and SEO.
The article notes: “Journalists’ brains apparently show a lower level of executive functioning, which means a below average ability to regulate their emotions, suppress biases, solve complex problems, switch between tasks, and show creative and flexible thinking.
The results showed that journalists’ brains were operating at a lower level than the average population, particularly due to dehydration and their tendency to self-medicate with alcohol, caffeine, and high-sugar foods.
Another sigh. Yes. They do.
The upside was that they had high mental resilience, the ability to think outside the box, and make connections where others might not see them, work well under pressure and can sift through information and identify what’s important.
One of the downsides – other than alcoholism – was that journalists have a hard time preventing themselves from worrying about the future or regretting the past.
I think they should extend the study to focus on journalists spiralling towards menopause. That would be a lively one.
Gawd, the random crying I’ve been doing over the past few days. You could scrape my face and salt a night’s worth of Maccas french fries.
They’re not helping with the dehydrating levels AT ALL.
Though at least I’m not deaf any more.
Those two statements aren’t related … the deafness isn’t caused by journalism or crying or perimenopause … there’s one blessing. It’s stalked me all my life. My parents used to get SOOOOOO angry about me ignoring them as a child, before they finally realised my ears were waxed firmly shut.
Fortunately, I no longer need to pay medical fees to have them syringed, because I’ve co-opted DD into doing it. He’s up to the third time time since we’ve been dating. Soooooo romantic.
He’s a bit squeamish about girlfriend health stuff, but he seems to quite enjoy squirting soapy water into my ears and exclaiming over what comes out.
Though I could have done without him suggesting one of the bits looked like a cockroach leg. I knew he was kidding, but I still squealed and demanded he hand me the bowl to examine.
It was NOT a cockroach leg. Smart arse.
It’s also not very sexy getting your boyfriend to pop over and syringe your ears on his way to the airport – he headed to Tokyo last night for work – but it’s sooooo blissful not to be struggling to hear the world through a muffled haze.
Poor DD, meeting a waxy, waning, wailing journalist on RSVP. He had NO idea what he was getting himself into.
Got any more hideous peri-menopause signs to share with me? Geez there seem to be a mountain of them to look forward to …
Song of the day: Simon & Garfunkel “Sounds of silence”