Mind

My mind feels bewildered. There are countless thoughts and ideas that swoop in one after the other and exit almost as fast. It's like children visiting a fair ground where the stalls haven't been put up yet. I wonder why she won't stop talking. It's easy enough and I want to know if she's ever tried. So I turn towards her but she's blissfully unaware that she's annoying the crap out of me. So I go back to twiddling my pencil and trying to smile while there's a war in my head.

I can feel them being resentful like angry little pixies who have found no place to land.

A poem from Richard Wilbur comes to mind.

Mind

Mind in its purest play is like some bat
That beats about in caverns all alone,
Contriving by a kind of senseless wit
Not to conclude against a wall of stone.

It has no need to falter or explore;
Darkly it knows what obstacles are there,
And so many weave and flitter, dip and soar
In perfect courses through the blackest air.

And has this simile a like perfection?
The mind is like a bat. Precisely. Save
That in the very happiest intellection
A graceful error may corret the cave.