I was trapped in the rational mind. Trapped in the rational mind trapped in the rational mind trapped in the rational mind trapped in the rational mind trapped in the rational mind trapped in the rational mind trapped in the rational mind trapped in the rational mind trapped in the rational mind trapped in the rational mind trapped in the rational mind. “What’ll I do if this thing happens?” I wondered, “What’ll I do if that thing happens? What’ll I do if the other thing happens?” I couldn’t stop fretting about nonsense: “How will I cope if a bad thing happens?” I asked myself, “What should I do about it? What’s the best thing to do? What shouldn’t I do? What’s the very worst thing to do?” Inbetween the fretting thoughts I was driving myself demented by analyzing absolutely everything:“What does this thing mean?” I wondered, “What does that thing mean? What does the other thing mean? What do any things mean?”
I was also busy making goals and planning. Planning this, planning that, and planning the other. My brain was actually going frantic. Frantic in the Atlantic. It was hopping. Hopping like a mad thing. “I wonder if I should make a goal to do some more planning once I’ve finished this lot of planning?” I asked myself. “Or should I plan to stop planning for a while?” It was all getting too much for me. “What’s the point in all this planning?” I wondered in a despairing way. And then the next thing was that I found myself wondering in pure perplexity, “What’s the point in all this wondering?”
That last flip caught me by surprise. I didn’t see it coming. It blind-sided me. It came out of nowhere. It caught me out big time and threatened to push me right over the edge altogether. “What happens if I get pushed over the edge?” I wondered. That wouldn’t be good at all. “What’s the right thing to do if you get pushed over the edge?” I asked myself. Getting pushed over the edge certainly wasn’t part of my plan I said to myself in a worried way. Then the humour of it hit me. I was stone mad as it was! Wasn’t my mind busy doing double back-flips, for God’s sake?
How the hell could I be worried about being pushed over the edge, I wondered. What was I thinking about? What was my problem? Wasn’t I as mad as a godamn rat anyway? My mind was doing the quadruple back-flip now:
