Connecting the Dots of the Mind

But first, a little photo-op . . .
Here's me in my recently won 90&9.com t-shirt. Yeah, baby!












Anyway . . .

This little game I play
It's kind of like a mental, abstract connect-the-dots. Okay, I'm not one to believe that every single solitary coincidence in life is God speaking to me. But sometimes, oh, sometimes, if I happen to unfortunately become a tad preoccupied with some . . . concept, I begin to think that everything that presents itself to me, whether in word or deed, or in something I read or whatever that is in any way connected to the object of preoccupation, is some kind of positive "sign."

I hate when I begin to do this. The rational part of me knows it's not God, but rather me, picking out "signs" from ordinary happenstances because my mental perception is heightened and tuned towards that particular object of preoccupation. Things that would normally go unnoticed suddenly become uncanny "confirmations."

It's the weirdest thing in the world for your rational side to realize the irrationality of something even while you're continuing to indulge in it.

Part of me is like, "Girl, chill out. You could expend your brain's energy in much more productive ways." The other part is like, "Aw, c'mon. No harm done by an already-acknowledged-as-irrational element. It's not like you don't realize you're being irrational. If you didn't realize it, then maybe we'd have a problem. It's not like you really buy this 'connection' stuff anway."

But perhaps therein lies the crux of the matter. Though, rationally, I cannot allow myself to buy it, deep down inside, I want to buy it.

My analytical, just-the-facts-ma'am side is a frantic, sweating, placating servant, doing everything he can to keep the irrational, emotional mistress at bay. What a ridiculous metaphor. It's not entirely accurate, but it's kind of amusing nonetheless.

Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.
(Hamlet, Act II scene ii)