Brain Talk

There are so many things to think about, yet of all things, you find yourself thinking about this one thing in particular.

The possibilities are infinite. You could be thinking about anything ranging from the sound that a bumblebee makes as it hovers around your ear to your plans for tomorrow. But still, in what ranges to be an infinite number and possibilities of things to think about, you find yourself thinking about this one thing in particular.

You don’t understand. You didn’t think of this thought, it just popped up. It isn’t you. Or is it you? What you think is what you become. The thought is becoming you.

You close your eyes. Time for that defense mechanism that you had planned for desperate times like these. Find all traces of that thought and destroy it. Force yourself to not think about it.

It failed. In finding all traces of that thought, you kept on running into it again.

Time to change the plan of attack: keep yourself busy, and by that, I mean fucking busy. Don’t give yourself any time to think.

Oh shit. You got yourself a breather, a short break. How do you keep yourself busy from that thought now? Too late. You’re thinking about it.

You’ve lost all hope. No matter what you try, you can’t rid yourself of the thought.

Wait a minute. Don’t you run the show here? Aren’t you supposed to be the one in fucking control? Pick yourself up and fucking get with it!

You devise another plan, a more elaborate one. This time, you’re not going to focus on not thinking about it. This time, you will just let it pop up in your head and pass you by; remove yourself from the equation and let that thought stand in the corner.

“Hmm,” you think.

“I’m having that thought again. Oh well, I think I’m going to let this chump stand over there in the corner while I find something else interesting to think about. He’s come here to see me, but I don’t have to greet him. Just because he has arrived doesn’t mean that I have to think about him.”

The thought is surprised. He didn’t expect this offensive. He has lost the battle. He leaves. You don’t notice him leaving. You don’t notice him at all. You are now immune to him.

Mission accomplished. Mission fucking accomplished.

Don’t be too happy. He might come back.

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About Banda Mann Singh Lamba

I'm here to create art in the form of words. Come, take a dip in my day dreams.
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