I am trying to cram so much into my life at times. I have a graphic project going on at the computer whilst I am reading a book on the desk beside me also whilst I pick up my latest crochet project and stitch a few rows--all this -all at once. Man I am one busy bee! I simply can't do enough in every minute of the day to satisfy my wish to do stuff. And because I like all the stuff equally I do them all at once because I simply can't choose which one to prioritize. It's like I sense time running out and I have so much yet to do.
And whilst I busily do all this stuff simultaneously thoughts weave themselves into the mix. And I mean this in the literal sense. Thoughts weave themselves .
Why do the weird thoughts we have just jump into our minds? Apparently the first sign of madness is uncontrollable thoughts. But who can control their thoughts? We must be all mad I think. I will be happily washing the dishes off in my own little world and a creepy thought will just jump in. You know the ones? They are too crass or too sick to mention but in they come- out of the blue. Then our job is to put them out of our mind as soon as possible. We are so lucky we are not a telepathic species. We would truly be freaked out by the thoughts surrounding us if we were . It's bad enough freaking ourselves out- but to hear others too would be, well, a nightmare!
People are so poker faced aren't they? They can be having the grossest creepiest horror of a thought and it may be the urge to mutilate you mercilessly with a blunt knife but they carry on right in front of us as though nothing is going on inside them. Or what about the lecherous types? Women often complain about the leering male they encounter but what they don't realize even the most meek and mild individual may be having worse thoughts than the man who is not too good at covering it up. In fact all males at some time in their lives experiences porno right there in their head right in front of their target and the target becomes the star- in their head-- hidden away- but there nevertheless.
Thoughts. We live with them. But where do they come from? Who is the sicko sending them in? It can't be me. I'm too good for these thoughts. Aren't I?