Collecting thoughts…

I stoop over, bending like they tell you not to. A dull, warm pain blooms in my lower back. In my hands is a small broom and dustpan I’m using to collect my thoughts. I reach down and sweep together the small pile I’ve collected, pushing them onto the dustpan and then slowly, stiffly standing up straight. I carry the small pile to the trash cautiously, being careful not to move to fast and spill them back upon the floor. I haven’t had a chance to collect my thoughts in a little while, but the pile isn’t as big as I’d expected, and I feel a bit of regret at the fact that it seems like my thoughts didn’t amount to more. I made sure to kneel down and reach far back behind the sofa and under the tables to collect as much as I could, but all that accumulated was this neat little pile in my dustpan. Now I’m paused, standing before the trashcan wondering if any of these thoughts should be saved. I poke through them with my finger but can’t find a single one worth keeping, and tip the dustpan towards the ground to watch the thoughts sift like sand into the trash.

It’s not always that I collect my thoughts this way, but recently I’d been feeling them stick to my bare feet as I walked along the smooth floors, and I knew I had to take a minute to sweep them together. Sometimes collecting my thoughts calls on me to chase them around a hillside with a butterfly net, while other times I just have to place a small pot or pan where they’re falling and let them drop in one by one as they leak through the ceiling. Quite often I end up on my hands and knees, pinching thoughts between my fingers and stuffing them back into my pockets like a handful of scattered spare change. One time I even completely lost control of my thoughts, and after they broke free I received a call from the town to come pick them up at the pound, where I found my thoughts lying spent and sedated in the bottom of a smelly cage. I was mortified that this happened but when I went in to collect my thoughts, the room was echoing with the barks and cries of many others, which somehow relieved me slightly. I asked the warden if this was common and she nodded solemnly, pointing to a cage that held a snarling, foaming brood of thoughts that she said was abandoned some time before, and would most likely have to be destroyed. I mentioned that maybe it was for the better and she looked at my matted mess of thoughts and shrugged her shoulders, seemingly unsure. They’re only thoughts, she told me, and I walked home considering her words as I pulled along my tired thoughts as they stumbled and drooled all over the sidewalk.

 
After I finished sweeping together the thoughts around my room, I sat back on the couch and appreciated how nice it was to clean up and get rid of all those old ideas. As I looked around I started to wonder what was the point of collecting them anyway. Sometimes my thoughts seemed to collect on their own, adding weight and confusion to my life that I had to work to shake off, while other times my thoughts had a habit of disappearing or dissolving before I even had a chance of seeing what they really were. In fact, now that I considered it, I realized I couldn’t even say with much positivity what a thought was, where it came from, or what good it does for me. Some thoughts led to trouble, that was for sure, but what about all the good ones? Some thoughts lead to smiles, happiness and excitement, isn’t that true? As I thought about this I just couldn’t be sure, for it seemed that each thought had two sides, and in some ways you never really knew what you were going to get. I considered the thoughts I could never remember, the good ones that seemed to hide in the back of my mind, and then I tried to look at the ugly thoughts I couldn’t get rid of, the ones that stood right in front of me and blocked my way.

 
I leaned back my head, closed my eyes, and let my thoughts slowly arise on their own. As each new thought appeared, I turned it over and then let it disappear. Sometimes I could see the thought coming but other times they just simply arrived, where one moment there was nothing the next I realized my mind was bathed in thought. Some of these thoughts were appealing, and as I realized this I had to peel my mind away from them, while other thoughts scared or disgusted me, and I watched as my stomach clenched and my shoulders tightened. I followed my thoughts like this for some time, until I regained the awareness of the room, and slowly opened my eyes and leaned forward. Some time had passed but I really couldn’t be sure, the room seemed somehow different, like the light had changed.

 
I rubbed my face and felt a rough response from my chin. I rocked forward and rose to my feet, the warm pain in my back still present. Slowly I walked to the bathroom where I flicked on the light. I peered at myself in the mirror and turned on the hot water, splashing a bit on my face and finding a bit of soap to lather between my hands. I covered my chin with the soap and retrieved my razor from the cabinet, rinsing it under the stream of hot water and then dragging it across the stubble on my face. After a few passes I held the razor back under the water and watched as the small flecks of thoughts disappeared down the drain.