Studying The Thing-a-Marod

I'm going to confess right up front here, I'm not 100% sure that I remember what this graphic relates to. I've got a few memory issues stemming from one time getting hurt right in the head region. Ever since then I've been on a strange overload, a condition where it's hard to focus even on a limited number of things. Instead it magically flowers and there's anywhere from 10 to 100 perspectives that, once the attention space is lost on a few perspectives, the others become overwhelming. Where the focus should be is seldom definite. Kind of like saying, "I want a white car, but I need to test-drive all the other cars to make sure white wasn't a mental trick.

The graphic features no one that I know of, at least in the present memory path. I may wake up in the middle of the night convinced, let's say, that she's my mother. Or my dog in a past life. Something entirely different would be the focus then. But what if she were actually someone I glimpsed on the sidewalk one day and my brain is giving me false positives about the potential relationship we might be subliminally toying with. Or maybe she's an old teacher of mine and a scientific study would center on what made her a good teacher, in the event she was. 

Seriously, I'm starting to think the female look of the graphic might be related to me, although I generally answer to male. Naturally, that could immediately make us think of things that are all mixed up. This one might be beyond me. Is that what the tongue looks like when it's seen in its entirety? It looks like a surfboard, and maybe there's some big waves today, and we'll ride it like wild horses, in this case a definite filly. Or whatever a male horse is called -- a stud -- with makeup. I'm big on gender identifications being the particular person's judgment, not so much based on equipment but what comes out of the mentality. In this case, with the graphic, it's "Ride the wild surf!" Or it's similar to the diving board by the pool. She's got a thought, the words form on the edge of the diving board, and jump in unison with the body into the wild surf, or sedate pool of water (water pooled in one place.) 

Is there any value in it? I believe so. I think it'd be cool to get together with a few other explorers, you know, and bat it back and forth what we think. Say we have 10 members in the discussion, and we're charting our course, not so much to come to conclusions, but it keep the discussion focused on the theories that are thought up in a brain storm, with lots of affirmation. Each member has a different theory, and we can't declare the next guy wrong. "I'm not saying you're right, but I'm also not saying you're wrong." 

The scientific study goes on. Perhaps I'll dream of it. Perhaps in my dreams I'll know how she (or he) fits in the scheme of things, who's right, who's wrong, blah blah blah. Each member of the discussion has something valuable to say. And if they say nothing, it could be because there's about to be the one with the most valuable thing to say. In this case, what could it be? "There's a thing-a-marod, and what it is isn't exactly clear. And what's going to become of it? Museum or city dump, albeit city dumps aren't anything like they used to be. We used to shoot rats in the city dump and of course there were lots of interesting things to discover once the rats were gone. The stuff they stashed away.

I'm Overwrought!

It's like I've been locked out of the opportunities that I've always taken for granted. Point A leads to Point B, then Point C; I do nothing but the elementary things that have always worked. Then suddenly, WHAM! Then the results, when results are manifested, are but balls of confusion. You could put your finger horizontally on your lips and blast out a noise and stretch it by wiggling your finger up and down and make more sense. Rationality, are you my old friend from back in the day? Or have you been hijacked and are now at the mercy of unsympathetic hijackers, about to plow your way into an edifice, perhaps a rural silo, meaning to rub it in: This terrible fate laughs, even chortles, then says in that old perfectly structured robotic voice, "No success for you!"

Well, I'm not giving up, you evil heinous polluted spirit of imposed failure, let it be YOU that fail, and upon that realization find your own deadend to your aims. Already I'm thinking the last laugh shall be mine! Usually when I have this sweat-out with seemingly insurmontable odds, I keep thinking, try, try again. It's in there, my normal sense of confidence even when the results start out so poorly. Whether it's riding my bike to the post office and get a stifling headwind, or I'm on assignment from the FBI trying to nab and take in the top 100 Convicts of History, I know the task is big, but not so big it can't be done. Have you noticed we don't hear much from Jesse James anymore?

Anyway, that's both the problem and the solution in the challenges I've been facing. What needs to be done can be done. The bigger they are, the easier they fall. My problems gang up on me, my inner self rebels, albeit temporarily, but in the end the little minions, the rebellious spirits in my mind and outlook, are surmounted, and either granted leniency for minor offenses or are strapped in electric chairs and jolted either into hell eternally or easily forgiven with a slap on the wrist. Forgiveness keeps the electric bill down.

I'm not a bad master of one's self, as is probably clear to you by now. Have you doubted me? Thank you for that hale and hardy "No sir!" It's gracious people like you, whether pushovers or not, that are the true heroes. We depend on you, don't let us down.