Thoughts

I’ve been wanting to describe the overactive, random, free-association multiverse that is my normal state of mind (and that of many other creative types, I’m guessing), but words fail me. Or, rather, there are too many words, and many more images: to sort through and hopefully translate into a comprehendable sentence or any other successful form of communication.

But then I found a recent entry to the online comic strip The Oatmeal, by Matthew Inman. I’ve always loved his “Bobcats” characters, with their hilariously unseemly workplace behavior and familiar feline habits. And that pterodactyl song will probably be stuck in my head forever.

And now “If My Brain Were an Imaginary Friend” is a new favorite. Particularly the fifth set of panels in the strip, showing a woman and a man walking together, his brain floating alongside. The thought-bubble caption above the brain contains a long stream of bizarre, semi-related, inappropriate observations. When the woman asks, “Hey, watcha thinking about?” the man replies, “Oh, nothing really.”

So it was great to discover this very public, well-executed statement that resembles much of my inner image-slideshow and dialogue, and conveys the futility or awkwardness of extracting part of the jumble to let the world know what’s on my mind.

When I do make an effort to concentrate, I’ve always been able to focus my mind into a narrower train of thought, at least for a while. Enough to accomplish a chore, solve a design problem, drive a car, buy ONLY the items on the grocery list, follow the plot of a movie, or give my undivided attention to another person’s words.

But this does require a deliberate shift in my mental processes, and all too often the train of thought becomes derailed, the stream of consciousness branches out into several tributaries at once. Is this perhaps an internalized form of attention-deficit disorder? Or the indication of a ridiculously multifaceted personality, with no clearly dominant mindset?

During my childhood, a few people’s first impression of me was that I might be mentally slow. Once I realized that this was because I’d sometimes be found staring into space with an idiotic grin on my face, I established the habit (after much practice in the mirror) of settling my features into an intelligent, thoughtful look, with the hint of a mysterious smile, whenever I needed to let my imagination run amok.

In addition to the creations of my own consciousness, and the pictures, songs and experiences that live in my memory, there’s often a fascinating sensory-overload of observing and absorbing everything going on around me. So at least I’m rarely bored, though I may appear to be.

I’m starting to suspect that this mind-clutter is actually fairly common, but it’s just that nobody talks about it much, for fear of seeming to lack composure and focus or even being considered insane.

“Cobalt Blue is the perfect color for a Vespa. My hair is tingling. Fish! Wow… what if cats had gills and fins? And wings? I’m sad. No you’re not sad, you just need to go get some fish. Square things! Oooh, tetrahedrons. If Tigger was a leopard, I’d name him Pongo. This project is due tomorrow. Tomorrow is Friday! Happy Happy… did I take my vitamins this morning? I hate Excel. What is that noise? 5/18/13. Lunchburgers? I’m so fat. Blue nailpolish. And Jaguars. Let’s go shopping! Command+Alt+Shift, drag drag drag… It’s too shiny in here. Good hair day. Oh, new e-mail I’m ignoring you. Why are my feet cold? We don’t need no ed-u-cay-tion… I think some antelopes are extinct. Master Media Plan: all systems go. Go, go cornholio! Grab keys go drive get fish nom.”