Sometimes I think a thought over a thousand and one times. I overthink it so thoroughly that it becomes gnashed, crushed into a cranial apple sauce that once resembled a concrete notion. Thoughts hate entering my head. I torture them.

Part of the problem is that I live by myself, and I haven’t really figured out how to do that yet. There’s just a lot of silence when you live by yourself. Too much silence. I like quiet time as much as the next guy, but I don’t like coming home at 5:30 p.m. to not say a single word until I see my co-workers the next morning.

When you live alone, there’s no one to bounce your thoughts off of but yourself. There’s no one to talk to. Well, I guess I have my pet mouse, but I don’t think he likes me too much, even though I give him a perfectly good cage to live in. I don’t think he’d make for great conversation anyhow. So I think. A lot. And what is thinking but asking and answering questions inside your mind?

Living alone isn’t completely to blame, though. It doesn’t help, but it’s not the cause of the problem. I don’t know what is. I’ve always been an overthinker. A thought rolls around in my head not like a well-struck golf ball, but more like pinball, destined to shoot blindly off bumpers until it lands in a hole where it probably shouldn’t be.

Sometimes I have a hard time making my thoughts go in a straight line. “What ifs” and “maybes” carve curves in my mental roads. Sometimes they block the way completely. I have an uncanny talent to convince and unconvince myself of something an almost unlimited amount of times. Too bad indecision isn’t an Olympic sport.

Maybe that’s just the way my brain’s made. I recently read somewhere that certain characteristics are predetermined by the genes that are passed down by our parents. Maybe I was destined to be an overthinker. Maybe it’s my parents’ fault.

Probably not. But it feels kind of good to have someone to blame it on.

But maybe it’s not such a bad thing. Maybe my mulling things over is just my method, a different method, of getting from point A to point B. Maybe the way I think has produced ideas that wouldn’t have seen the light of day any other way. Maybe I just see the world a bit differently, with a few more strings and a lot more mirrors.


Or maybe not.

But maybe.

Or….maybe not…

End Kwote

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