Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Thinking Thrilling Thoughts

I have to block out thoughts of you so I don't lose my head,
They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed.
-Blue October

I could wax lyrical about how entirely wretched I feel in real time. But I’m afraid it would be so truly sincere, that it would come across as fraudulent.

I’ve played snakes so many times that I can now breeze through the motions of all thirty-six levels in my sleep. And beat my own high score. And further compound the cramps in my thumbs. And administer the deathblow to my cell phone’s keypad.

I’ve been scoring off tiny bits from my mouse pad. The explanation for my actions is two fold. First, I’m a fidgety person. Second, circumstances have added to my fidgets. So my mouse pad no longer sports the photograph of a Maserati, but the outline does resemble the borders of France. That’s saying something. And I don't understand why everyone adores the Ferrari. The Maserati's just as cool.

Before this, I always derived some perverse pleasure from looking at a poster of Voldemort on my door. It’s very conveniently located. At knee level. Not that I’ve actually availed the very pleasurable opportunity this provides. But in my warped mood, I just felt a surge of sympathy for the man. He doesn’t look scary or mean. He just looks like a very creepy, diseased and dented boiled egg with nostrils.

The entire problem is that waiting is an arduous task. It gives me ample opportunity to ‘think’. Under normal circumstances (something I haven’t experienced in some time, so it must now be sub-normal if not abnormal), it wouldn’t bother me that I am ‘thinking’ too hard or too fast, whether it’s consciously or unconsciously. But when what is awaited bears immense consequence, like an axe waiting to fall, the ‘thoughts’ that plague the mind are terribly incommodious. Especially because I was born programmed to dismember, scrutinize, analyze and perform many other fierce acts on the subject matter.

So I tried to not think.

That’s appalling sentence structure I know, but that’s precisely what I tried to do.

Instead I ended up thinking about how not to think about what I didn’t want to think about. My train of thoughts screeched to a halt at that deduction with the prerequisite theatrics and flourish.

While thoughts of avoidance are more suited to the present situation, they don’t possess much charm. Especially when they’re in competition with less enviable but far more thrilling thoughts, opinions, apprehensions that form a heady cocktail made further potent by that stray shot of adrenalin and a very freaky form of grief.

A passing thought did occur that maybe I was just working myself up even more to a very terrifying, glass shattering crescendo.

But it really was a passing thought, it flit by and I was back to soul searching.

It’s a daunting and extremely dangerous task. Soul searching when in an emotionally precarious position that is.

Introspection is a wonderful thing. But only to be undertaken on a sunny morning, a nip in the air and glass of orange juice in hand when you’re oozing contentment and goodwill.

It’s injurious to health if one ventures down that path on a very grey evening, with visibly pregnant clouds threatening, when a fine blonde film of dust is forming on dark furniture, spilling…….dust on the house help’s efforts.

Relief however, is present in the form of a gargantuan back-of-my-head. With careful effort and studious concentration, I consigned my rather irksome tribulations to the said back-of-my-head. It’s tucked just away from my conscious.

But unfortunately, such thoughts are permanently in a state of military preparedness, poised to spring to the forefront and devastate the senses.

Hence I have resigned myself to 39 hours of ‘thinking’ very thrilling thoughts.