If I got pennies for my thoughts, I'd be eating cat food and living in a dumpster

The phrase "left alone with my thoughts" instills, it seems, the type of loathing and watery-kneed terror in human beings found also in such word combinations as "sudden onset of dysentary" or "grandma is coming for dinner". For the longest time, this puzzled me. Now, I believe, I have figured out why I don't tremble at the awesome power found in silence, solitude, and an overly large cerebral cortex.

My thinking takes effort.

That's it. You see, it appears that the average human being is gushing over with random neuronal firings, and that to not think is like not taking a pee after 6 pints of lager. It's these persistant gurglings of thoughtstuff that lead to such vile practices as "self reflection", "re-evaluating my wants and needs", and "planning my wedding". No wonder people dread being alone with their thoughts. Their thoughts are out to get them. Their thoughts have no greater plan nor purpose than to bop around inside the skull in loud and annoying ways until, through a process similar to that of having a teenage son listen regularly to Marilyn Manson, the victim of said thoughts is left broken, mushy, and crushed like a grasshopper on the windshield of life.

And don't tell me I'm mixing my metaphors again and that Marilyn Manson has nothing to do with smooshed and squishy windshield-decking bugs. I've listened to him. I know.

Now certainly, we're all thinking all the time, if you think of thinking as any electrical activity in our noggins. That's the only way that people like Ozzy Osborne stay alive. But the process of verbal thought and visual thought, of that movie in the brain and the glib and so-very-witty dialogue that accompanies it -- you guys can't stop it, can you? I mean, it takes effort.

I find it no effort at all.

In fact, I'm consistently getting myself into trouble by trailing away along the path of thoughtlessness. To have nary a thought in my head is my default state of existence. This is all well and good if one lights up smelly candles, sits in full lotus, and ohms to oneself, but it's a little less user-friendly when operating a table saw, defusing a bomb, or giving head..

And don't tell me that giving head is a thoughtless act. You just watch what happens when your lover looks down at you and moans, "oh baby, how do you like dem apples?" and you reply with "sorry, could you repeat the question?"

You'd think that not thinking would be a potential hazard in the workplace most of all. Not at all, not in the average white collar work environment. As long as the aforementioned saws, bombs, and genitals are not part of the job description, I can state unequivocably that the less one gets thought involved, the fewer incidences of "worker negligence" and "insubordination" will occur, and your position as a valued cog in this monstrous wheel of industry will be secure. What's more, you're never really around to notice, leading to a simple and stress-free existence.

A life of non-thought is, in fact, at its most hazardous in the home. After all, since I'm not thinking, there's really no reason to get dressed, is there? The bed stays warm, the fridge stays empty, the hair unwashed, and before I've even thought about it I'm a reeking, festering boil embedded in a butthole of a home constipated with empty pizza boxes, stacks of popcans, and enough cat fur on the carpet to knit an entirely new carpet, with evidence of exploding Coke bottles, inappropriately microwaved containers of foodstuffs, and soup spills leaving an unsightly brownish ring around the place.

Of course, unlike others who are in a similar situation, it doesn't bother me much at all. I just don't think about it.

I do have moments, moments where thought appears to bang on the inside of my skull, yelling to try and be heard through the thick, insulated wall. I can only describe these as moments of bother at not being bothered. I'd like to have Niagara Falls for thoughts, I think. Then, when I say to myself "you know, I really should try to find my kitchen counter," I would actually have so many thoughts spew into my noggin about the whole idea, potential benefits, and final outcome that I'd probably actually do it, rather than continue to not think while lying thoughtlessly on my futon. I could write great poetry, empower others with the insight and wisdom found in my gentle instruction on the world in which we live, and change the course of my life and the life of those around me with the zeal and passion found in my contemplative state alone.

That's usually when I fall asleep. After all, that's a lot of thinking.

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Last 5 entries:
01.14.2007:Finally, a support group we can all get behind
01.09.2007:The City That Ever Reeks
01.08.2007:Waiter, there's a uterus in my soup
01.03.2007:Long Lost Mummy of Nefertiti Found in Smoog's Apartment
12.30.2006:New Year's resolutions we can actually keep

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