“On Thinking”

I think too much. 

If thinking worked major muscle groups, I’d look like a yoga master:  toned, fit, and thin. 

Unfortunately, thinking does not make a person look better – it’s more like the equivalent of eating a bag of Doritos.  The first third of the bag is so good that you’re licking your fingers after every chip.  The next third is still good, but you’re starting to get a little sick.  And the last third kind of makes you want to throw up.  I guess what I’m saying is that when I wake up at four o’clock in the morning with my mind going a hundred miles an hour, thinking about things like why I shouldn’t wear what I’ve already picked out for work, or why I should totally rearrange my closet to incorporate an aesthetically pleasing color scheme, or why I desperately need better facial lotion, or freaking out about whether or not I mailed my mother’s birthday card … I might be thinking too much.

I just want to flip the switch, turn off my brain, hit the mute button on the words stampeding through my thoughts.  Just once, I would like to sleep through the night, without waking up in a panic for god-knows-what useless reason.  Or … having woken up on the brink of an inexplicable panic attack, I’d like to be able to just fall back asleep.   Oh, the things other people take for granted - like sleeping through the night.  I generally wake up with black circles the size of a small country under my eyes which no amount of “lightening cream” will remove. 

Thinking is good, right?  Knowing things is necessary, yes?  Then why is there simply too much information in my brain?  Why do I read the New York Times and feel like my head might explode?  Why is it that I try to process the various, current revolutions in the Middle East and I suddenly feel like if I read another word, my grey matter will start oozing out of my ears? 

I AM SO TIRED OF THINKING!

I want to watch a movie all in one sitting without wandering off to do other things that I “should” be doing before I relax.  I want to lounge in a hammock and NOT think about the statistical likelihood of whether or not a branch could fall on top of me.  I want to write this blog and not give a shit about who might read it and take it the wrong way and freak out and judge me and call the school and complain about the fact that I wrote some stupid fucking words on a blog and sent it into cyberspace.  

But I can’t.

Instead, I stew, and wonder, and project, and theorize, and reflect, and worry, and THINK … all the time.  Where did this ridiculous neurosis come from?  I don’t remember being so tightly wound when I was younger, but maybe I was simply a different person then. 

Here’s my theory:  if I could just be right next to the ocean all the time, the sound of the water would drown out the sound of my thoughts. 

But for now, I will have to rely on the sound coming from my air purifier – which doesn’t seem to be working very well. 

I should go to bed.   And think about it.  A lot.