a peek inside my brain.

So, I've come to terms with the fact that my thoughts [the ones going on inside my brain all the time, not the ones I voice aloud] can be [read: are] pretty peculiar. Here's an example of a normal thought process,

[preface] I go to tidy up a classroom and close it down for work one night, the room is usually in an expected state after a day's worth of classes; some empty bottles, scrap paper, a few batts, etc. I walk in this time and the room is especially messy, primarily with battalions everywhere, I immediately think:

Man, there are a LOT of newspapers in here, I bet that there was a group of freshman that used this room today to register for classes. It seems it always a little messier on those days. As I'm picking them up I'm positive it went down like this,

Advisor man: "Okay kids, before we get started we're going to play a little game to get you all pumped up for starting your undergraduate careers!"

freshmen: "YAY!"

AM: "Okay here's what you do, I'm going to give you 2 minutes and you need to go run and find as many of these here campus newspapers, called The Battalion, as you possibly can and come right back here, okay GO!"

freshmen & parents scramble in a mad dash out of the room and return almost as quickly with armloads of papers, faces beaming in eager anticipation as they are so ready to take part in this wonderful game that truly welcomes them in to the Aggie family just like a big bear hug from Stephen McGee.

AM: "Alright when I say go, I want you to throw your Battalions as high and far as you can all over this room! Got it?"

freshmen: "We got it!"

AM: "Okay, GO!"

Papers flutter everywhere landing draped over unoccupied chairs, completely covering the floor, somehow defying the laws of physics and wedging themselves under laptops.

They have succeeded.

Parents have never been prouder when they leave ushering their new Aggie to the car, traces of "Aggieland really is the best place on earth!", and "When we get home I'm throwing away all those silly burnt orange clothes of your fathers, he has no idea what its like here!", can be heard along the way.

I'm mildly weirded out by typing that just now, but that usually how it is in my head. I'm quite frequently envisioning how something or someone got to the state it is currently in. Like with decorating choices that are clearly awry, While most people just ask themselves, "What were they thinking?", I actually answer that question in my head. Yes, I create a whole fictional environment and characters and they do a little one act play that leads to the logical answer as to why the trim is that horrid shade of blue, why the restaurant I'm in arranged their tables the way they did, or why an area of foreign policy failed so miserably.

I love reading memoirs, and I've gotten to read a few this summer. It really makes me wish I had a tape recorder for my brain, so I could transcribe my fleeting thoughts, comical renditions of conversations, and everything else that goes on up there onto paper for me to read and refine. I suppose that what a journal is for but I don't really journal conversationally and I think that's the way I think a lot of the time, there's more than one person providing the material for the story. The usual players, there's the heart, the brutally honest, the compassionate, the realist, the pride, the fearful one, and the holy spirit too, quiet, but clear and always heard, never abasing.

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