There are thoughts bubbling up somewhere in the back of my mind, kind of like acid reflux. I’m not quite sure what these thoughts are about — maybe they’re not that important, or maybe the back of my mind is trying to tell the front of my mind something and it can’t quite push its way to the edge of consciousness.
When the sun shines, it’s much easier to see what you’re eating or hammering or cutting up with a sharp knife, so it’s nice to have that brightness making it obvious what you’re doing. You can stop squinting and fumbling around and hoping you don’t smash your thumb or run into anything. All those animals you see lying in the middle of the road rotting probably didn’t arrive there on a sunny day or else drivers would have noticed them, stepped on the brakes a little sooner, given them a wider berth, especially if they had a white stripe down the middle of their backs.
The stuff in the back of my mind is the same way. It spends a lot of time in the dark crevices. It would be nice to take a torch back there so these thoughts could see their way to the light of day, or at least I could examine them more closely and see if it is worth dragging them out of their holes and giving them the time and effort that other thoughts get, many of which are perfectly worthless. I mean, how many times do I need to contemplate the score of last night’s basketball game, or whether or not I made the correct choice when I bought an ice cream cone? The ice cream is eaten, and if I didn’t like it, then next time I won’t order Fruit Loop sorbet. Instead of obsessing about some critical comment my mother once made, wouldn’t it be more productive to look at the back-of-the-mind thoughts that have been waiting for I can’t remember how long?
Yes, these thoughts are shy, or embarrassed, or kind of weak siblings to other, stronger thoughts that I can’t seem to push away. How come my head is filled with so many boring thoughts that just keep repeating themselves over and over, or mass-produced thoughts that get piped in 24/7 from all the news channels, and ads, and streaming media? Why do I care more about what George Clooney or Lady Gaga did last weekend than what I’ve got tucked away in the hidden recesses of my very own brain? I would much rather know what I think than what they do. Please, God, let me clear a little space for my own thoughts, even if it’s just for a few seconds or minutes. I sure would love to have a gander at the things stuffed into the back of my own closeted mind.
OK, they might turn out to be out of fashion, or no longer fit properly, or be moth-eaten or mildewed. But even if it’s stuff that got tucked away a long time ago and has been outdated by more relevant, slicker, faster, better thought-out thoughts that take me where I want to go faster, are more portable, have fancier features — it still might be nice to go through some of the clutter. I could sort out and discard the stuff that’s completely useless, or maybe give away some of the older thoughts that no longer fit very well, as my brain has gained weight from a few too many high-calorie history books, and sweet, rich tomes of philosophy. But the plainer, simpler thoughts might still be perfect for someone younger and slimmer and a little more facile than I am.
Maybe if I was able to clear out some of that old stuff from the back of my mind, my whole brain would work better, be a little clearer. Then I could even stick some of these current boring thoughts back there and have room in my daily consciousness for fresher, state-of-the-art ideas that have a better chance of making me laugh and smile and jump for joy. I’d like some thoughts that would get my blood pumping, make me want to run and skip, dance and sing. Who knows; maybe a few exciting thoughts are right there in the back of my own mind, but so buried under useless crud that I can’t quite remember them anymore.
So I think I’ll go to the brain dump and get rid of some of this old crap, and then go shopping at the Brain Depot for some new ideas for the changing season.