Sometimes my thoughts organize themselves in neat little rows. Sometimes they line up like soldiers and address me as I call them to attention — always respectful, deferring to my wishes to consider them… or not.
Sometimes they jostle for position two inches from my face and shout things I cannot repeat. Then they are an angry mob — wide-eyed, heedless, and flushed with distress. Then they will not be ignored.
Sometimes they are like dust devils or whirlpools or flash floods, coming up in a rush and disappearing just as quickly — spinning me like a top until I gasp for air… and then find myself oddly still again.
Sometimes they are like fog, weightless yet cloying, insubstantial but somehow there. Then I know they are affecting my vision, but not my movement.
And sometimes they are like great rocks, heavy and cool, waiting to be dragged up a hill or rolled down into a valley. Then it takes planning to get them where I want them to go.
I’ve never been good at NOT thinking about things.
I’ve never been good at admitting what I was really thinking.
I’ve never been sure that what I was thinking was right.
I always wonder what other people are thinking.
I always wonder what their thought process looks like.
I always wonder if they’re trying to see into my head.
I have worked for days without rest, climbed up mountains, swam for miles, stood in the scorching heat for hours, and gone without food, water, sleep, or help when I needed all four. I have done these things and been fine. My energy keeps me going, my will keeps me going. My body, while wildly unpredictable, can be tamed for whole stretches or time. The physical is often easily overcome.
But my thoughts?
Who knows where they will go, what they will do? Who knows how to slow them down, speed them up, make them make sense?
I’m so tired of thinking.
I’m so tired of this.
