T.G.A. on Thoughts:

Some of us live very exciting lives where we travel, or make exorbitant amounts of money, or we are physically or mentally challenged each day, or where we hold peoples' lives and well-being in our hands.

Some of us live very stable lives where we drive our commute and eat our lean cuisine and chat with the same friendly (or not so friendly) people in the same familiar place.

Either way, no matter what life you have chosen (or, in my case, what life may have chosen you), there are times when you cannot get away from certain thoughts.

You can throw yourself into your challenge or your lean cuisine, or your avoidance of that certain man in that certain cubicle, but you can't throw away your thoughts.

These thoughts come to you (and me) at moments you can't get away from. You can't work them away, or write them away, or chase them away. You can sleep them away. But then you could dream them, and that's no good, either.

They come to you (and me) when you brush your teeth. Pack your car. Inspect the oranges at the grocery store. When you tie your shoes or you wait for the very important executive's very oppressed assistant to call you back.

They sneak up on you and you can't hush them up. They're just there. The taunting voice-over narrative of our lives. Mine is in third person, but I think that's a writer woman quirk.

Mine says things like, "And Abbey knew at that moment that something fantastically marvelous would have to come to a screeching end." Or "Abbey thought it was a good idea, until every aspect of her fool-proof plan exploded into a thousand, individually horrific pieces." Or "And so they parted, and Abbey would never be the same."

It's hauntingly reflective and annoyingly piercing. Oh, the way those thoughts just stick around and linger in the air, giving us the undesired opportunity to hear, and more importantly feel, them again.

So I guess we can take comfort in the fact that no one can get away from their thoughts. If you are a horrible, despicable person, you know it before you fall asleep at night. If you are in constant denial, it will catch up with you while you're waiting for your chicken noodle soup to cool.

And, if you are like me, a well-intentioned person in the weeds (luckily overwhelmed with writing and a complicated personal life, not messy dishes and angry patrons), then you know, the thoughts just pop up, like weeds themselves, and you might as well accept them.

The little curiosities, reflections, and "what ifs" in our lives grow to define us. "He was a tall, passive aggressive man who always wanted to surf, but never saw the ocean." Or "She was always daydreaming off, imagining what her life would have been like had she possessed more courage when courage was called."

Walking among us in each family, at each dinner party, of each season are people thinking their thoughts-- the ones that just keep sticking around, despite strong intentions to shake them.

Last night I went out only to remember that I virtually hate being in public after hours. Oh, the stench of a place where everyone goes to meet someone of whom they've never met. Like a last call meat market on the bus to unwed hell.

I let the familiar narration roll over me, and, as I suspected, it kept me company. We'll see how long that can suffice.