It’s like when you inflate a balloon. You huff and you puff until you’re dizzy then, while you fumble around trying to get the silly thing knotted, it shoots off like a rocket — blowing a long, loud raspberry in farewell. That’s life, right? You expect stuff like that to happen.
Unfortunately, the same type of phenomenon occurs each time a thought pops into my head and, I’ll be honest, it’s confounding. Not to mention exasperating. It’s also becoming a problem.
Once upon a time, and not so very long ago, I could hold a thought. I’m not kidding. I could mull it over; I could ponder and contemplate and reflect with the best of them, ruminate, even. For hours if I wanted to. And, if I had to, I could go around thinking for days on end. Really, I could. I’m not bragging or anything, I’m just saying.
Thinking came easil — wait, how’d all those crumbs get in my keyboard? And would you look at my cuticles? Are you kidding me? I’ve got to make an appoin
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