I have a constant monologue running through my mind. I know a lot of people will admit to having quiet, personal conversations with themselves, but I unabashedly proclaim that I think exactly the way I talk: nonstop and without a filter. I honestly believe that if I wrote everything out onto paper that I wanted to say, I would fill up mass quantities of journals, use countless napkins and run the Post-It company completely out of it's warehouse supplies.
Sometimes I worry that these thoughts and ideas may overflow from my head, spilling out of my ears and puddling on the floor. I suppose I'd just watch as mothers hastily scooped up their children to save them from the pool of words that would starting to form in aisle 14 of Wal-Mart. "That girl must have been a genius", they'll say, shaking their heads, "Why didn't she put it on paper? She surely must have felt all the sentences building up pressure...". End scene.
Often time, said thought processes lead to productive measures: lists of things to do, cleaning supplies I've run out of, a good recipe I remembered seeing on the Food Network, and grocery items that I need to purchase at the Rainbow discount food store. Daydreams interfere quite often, mingling amidst the aforementioned power-driving thoughts; places I'd like to travel, photos I want to take, what it would be like if I were a country singer, how I'd look with bangs again, how long I would have to hold my breath to pass out and would it get the attention of the cute guy who sits across from me...You know, the normal shit.
Intermixed with all of these flowing paragraphs, and one-sided questions that never get answered, in the most irrational part of my head are things that creep and hide ashamed in dark corners. How if I won the lottery I would eat lobster every day for a month, or at least until I got tired of it. Why there isn't chocolate flavored gum, and if dogs perhaps have opinions on human behavior and rituals. If the mirror above my bed is fastened securely, and what if there was a freak earthquake; would I be decapitated or simply knocked into a coma by it? I wonder a lot about God, and religion. I figure that if Jesus made me as he intended, he certainly has a sense of humor (I'd like to think that I'm one of the funniest people He's created).
I know how very sane I am. I analyze the hell out of every situation, and am the first to hold up a judging hand to any seemingly irrational decision or new theory. I know my head from my heart, and my right from my left, and not to cross the street when the light is red. I get it.
Maybe I know too many words, which is why they are constantly battling each other in my mind; colliding dangerously like teenagers in a mosh pit. I never get answers, I just go from one thing to the next; waffles for breakfast, to showering or not, to calling in sick to work, to loving again, to what movie to watch before bed, to bills to pay, to whether I'll ever jump out of a plane. Just like that.
In my mind, I don't stand on a soapbox, I sit in a corner and pick the petals off of a flower, quietly. I don't know a lot, but I know a little about everything, or enough about a little, or maybe just a little about enough things to fake it.
Call me the tangent master.
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