‘I was in my favourite place,’ I began. I always begin like this when I’m unsure of myself. I picture myself in my favourite place and I start off from here; I start off from a position of strength, you might say. I start off from a position of strength. Sometimes I get worried that I might be expressing myself entirely in clichés, entirely in stereotypes. I’ve noticed them creeping in rather a lot recently. ‘What would happen to me if I ever did start expressing myself entirely in clichés?’ I wondered. ‘Then you’d have to live in one of the ghost worlds,’ I replied to myself, answering my own question just a bit too smartly. Then you’d go to live in one of the ghost worlds. That should frighten me I know, but it doesn’t. My mind is dull and unresponsive, it flicks through its limited possibilities listlessly, unimpressed with any of its options. ‘So that’s your hand huh? How are you going to play it? I asked my mind cheekily. The cards were dirty and dog-eared; the pack should really have been replaced a long time ago. ‘How you going to play that crappy old hand of yours?’ I insist. I’m pushing it, looking for a reaction. ‘How are you going to play that, mind?’ I ask. My mind took no notice – it never does. It just keeps on going through its routines; somehow it never seems to get tired of this. It’s hoping to get a result, I know. It’s always hoping to get a result. It never does of course – it just keeps going through its routines. Somehow it never seems to get tired of this. I wanted to abuse my mind, I wanted to swear at it. I wanted to ridicule it, to revile it. It struck me that I had never seen anything stupider than my mind – It was the stupidest thing going! All it ever does is to flick through its limited range of dog-eared possibilities. All it ever does is to rattle through its dusty old routines, evidently hoping for something happen differently next time round. It’s like shaking a salt-shaker over your food and expecting something other than salt to come out. Expecting what, though? What exactly would you expect to come out of it? Pepper perhaps? Potassium permanganate? Magic fairy dust? I don’t know what my mind is expecting; I don’t know what my mind is waiting for. Does anyone, I wonder? Does anyone know? Could anyone ever find out? This could be one of the great unsolved mysteries, I realize – a true riddle, a true enigma, like those mathematical problems people try to solve down through the centuries. What does my stupid mind expect to happen? ‘Hey mind, you dumb fuck!’ I call out loudly, ‘What do you think is going to happen differently when you keep on doing the same old things? What you expect to see coming out of the salt-shaker this time?’ My mind says nothing, however. It ignores me, just as it always does…