Ideas. They never stop for me. I am under constant bombardment of though – whether original or unoriginal. Ideas assault me all day and into the night, while I try to quiet my mind and rest. I cannot sit still because of ideas.
Yesterday, the idea came that one of the storage buildings should be cleaned out, so that I could get some things out of the garage/shop. So, I went and made room in the storage building. While in there, the idea of yet another yard sail forced it's way into my head. What else would I do with all this extraneous stuff I was having to manipulate yet again to make room for more extraneous stuff?
The yard sale, barring inclement weather, having to work overtime, or other catastrophe, will be this coming weekend. The prices will be so low people will be forced to buy all this stuff.
A funny thing happens as more and more useless junk heads out the door. I feel more and more freedom. Freedom from the encumbrance of possessions. Freedom to DO instead of HAVE. I'd spend my money experiencing something any day over buying something. It's a good thing too, because right now, I'm experiencing being the “working poor” and not buying anything but necessities because that's what I can afford. The yard sale may help, a little. What doesn't get sold is either going to the dumpster or to charity.
See? Ideas. They constantly come at me like I was some kind of celebrity and they're the paparazzi. Music also runs through my head constantly. Weird? Tell me you've never had a song you can't get out of YOUR head. That's what I thought. My problem is, it's a succession of music. It's a parade through my subconscious ear. Years ago, I feared this would drive me mad, but as time has gone by, I've become used to it to the point that it's sort of a musical accompaniment for the thought train rumbling through the brain.
My own research has shown that Ideas are most likely to strike in the following places and times:
the shower
when you are falling asleep
during dreams
in the bathroom when you're “indisposed”
when you are ANYWHERE that you can't write the idea down to record it.
Maybe I'm finally losing it. Maybe I'm becoming like Harrison Ford in “Mosquito Coast,” a hyperactive middle aged man that flits between one idea and another and can't help himself. At any rate, I can feel them. The Ideas. They're out there, all around me, just waiting their turn to rush into my mind.
If you see me trying to build an ice machine in the middle of the jungle, please stop me, okay?
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