I have a horrible habit of crawling up into my head to see what’s there. More often than not I merely notice what’s missing, but that’s another story.
I’m slightly introverted, so I often find myself lost in my thoughts. (Does that phrasing even make sense?)
WARNING: TMI in 3…2…1…
This happens most often while I’m in the shower.
My wife likes to point out that I sometimes take long showers. I do this because I literally forget I’m in the shower. I get utterly lost in my head, like that dude in the movie Hook who couldn’t find his marbles.
On one of my recent head trips (pun) I realized that my head is a place no one should ever visit. It’s filled with ridiculous ponderings about strawberry jelly, Jesus, duck-billed platypuses, time travel, and Teletubbies, although not necessarily in that order. (Unfortunately the Teletubbies are usually first, followed by the time travel, which is usually my attempt to escape the Teletubbies, who are the thing of nightmares.)
And this life-changing epiphany was followed by another, more horrifying epiphany: My book is a literal trip inside the mind of Darren. The previous paragraph shows why this is so horrifying.