According to Science Illustrated, “Letting the mind wonder fosters creativity”.  Maybe, but letting my mind wonder fosters thoughts that range from daft to disturbing.  For example:

Sometimes when I’m talking to somebody, I wonder if behind that expression of polite interest, they’re psychically screaming “Shut up!  Shut UP!”

I’ve done that lots of times, for various reasons.  Sometimes it’s because I’m on a deadline and the other person simply won’t acknowledge that their detailed description of the pickle they ate at lunch may in fact be less important than the document the client needs in ten minutes.

Sometimes it’s because the person flapping their gums is expressing ideas so colossally stupid, I can’t believe they haven’t already choked on their own idiocy.

Sometimes it’s because the speaker is brilliant but my poor brain is full to the brim, and trying to pour more information into it is a complete waste of everyone’s time.

And sometimes it’s a “too much information” conversation where psychic screaming is my last, desperate attempt to prevent the images from penetrating my brain and leaving it perforated and deformed by a nasty case of BSE (Bozo Spongiform Encephalopathy).

So if I’ve been the psychic screamer that frequently, it stands to reason that sometimes I’m the cause of psychic screams.  The scream-ee.

It’s a humbling thought, and not a little disturbing.  But it does tend to make me strive for brevity in my conversations.

* * *

Here’s another thing I wonder about:  Can anybody tell me why the white hairs always pop up as stiff as wires, while the red hairs lie flat and behave themselves?  That white hair used to be red.  It’s coming from the same place on my head.  You’d think if the colour went out of it, it should be thinner and wimpier.

But no.  As soon as the colour is gone, the hair follicle kicks into high gear like some freakishly pumped-up mutant superhero with ‘roid rage:  “Aha, the kryptonite is gone!  My super-powers are restored!  Bam!  Pow!  Zap!”

I don’t know why it happens, but it does explain Albert Einstein’s ‘do.  In a few more years, I’ll look just like him.

* * *

The other day I was out walking in the park behind our house when I came upon a used condom frozen into the snow, right in the middle of the path.  It had snowed only a couple of days before, so I knew it was fresh (if such a term can be correctly applied, given the object in question).  It had also been -25 degrees Celsius for the past week.

Which made me wonder:  What quirk of intellect allows a person to have sufficient maturity, restraint, and judgement to practice safe sex under even the most rigorous (and I apply that word within the full range of its meanings) conditions… and still remain dumb enough to a) whip it out in the middle of a public park; and b) risk ending up with a cocksicle at -25?

Is there some sort of Polar Bear Sex Club or something?  You know, like those hardy folks who jump into ice water for no apparent reason?

And could somebody please look that up and let me know?  ‘Cause there’s no way I’m gonna google “Polar Bear Sex Club”.

What do you wonder about?