No. My brain says I’ve got to talk, let it out, say at least... something. But my mouth won’t work. It won’t open, and even when it does, the words are lost. I squeak, then I um, then mumble, and then annoy myself. I haven’t got anything eloquent, poignant or apposite to say.
“I’m internally processing,” I say to others, like a true introvert. I instantly feel like a computer running close to 100% CPU. There’s barely enough RAM left to utter those three words. But it feels rude not to say anything at all.
Processing, churning, thinking, wondering. What is it that makes life worthwhile? What is the pulse, the tick, the engine, the thing, the motion, the bit that makes sense?
I hear the stock answers from the predictables. I don’t disagree! And yet, I lie awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling as though something incredibly important is missing.
But this computer can’t work out all the answers. I don’t think I can even calculate the questions properly. I can just lie here silently wondering, the hourglass spinning as the CPU whirs at maximum capacity.
No, says my brain. Ctrl+Alt+Delete, end task, and switch processes. Time for standby. At least until tomorrow.
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