Dear Mrsatroxi,

How do you think?

Now, I’m not talking about synapse and electrons and serotonin. I’m asking you, how do you think? It’s similar to the question, do you dream in color?

Do you have a voice in your head that talks you through your day, your actions, telling you what to do and what to think of yourself?

Do you have music on the brain, a musical that bops you in and out of situations, telling your memories in song?

Or is your life written out in front of you like a movie, memories played back like flashes of film, with only occasional bursts of noise?

A movie involving mind reading first sparked a discussion along these lines a few years ago. To get you started, here’s how it works for me. I think in pictures, or movies. When I write, I don’t hear the words, I see them, rolling away in front of me, or I see me typing them. My mind is mostly silent. If I concentrate very hard, I can sometimes force sound and voice into the movies of my grandfather that are my memories of him. But for the most part, I have a very quiet thought process. I have read this is a sign of autism, genius, brain damage, being a dog, and is just plain weird.

So, how do you think?

I would just like to declare to the internet, and by association, the world, that I am worthless. Yes, that’s right, completely and totally worthless.

I would also like to declare that my husband is the most wonderful husband and possibly man, ever. Ladies, you may think your man is all that and two bags of chips.
He ain’t.
My husband has encouraged my beliefs, put up with my moods, my silliness, my health issues, my depression, my not wanting to get help for my depression, my love of cars, shoes, and sweets, my facination with cleanliness and Harrison Ford, and the fact that never once in our married life have I remembered to replace the empty toilet paper roll. He has done his best to understand me, to hug me, to help me, and best of all, he has loved me. He has held me when I’ve cried, given me my head when I’m angry, and stood back when I’ve needed room. Even when it’s torn his heart to do it. He makes me smile when I’m sad and laugh when I’m happy. He gives me his time, his energy and his attention. Above work, X-boxes, or computers. He thinks I am intelligent, capable, and strong. He thinks I look beautiful in the morning. I know I am trusted. I know I am important. I know I am special. I know I am loved.

Today I’m not so sure about the special part.

Today is my darling husband and I’s (I’s?) four year and eleven month wedding anniversary. Yes, that’s right, in one month we will celebrate our fifth year of living together as man and wife. It’s a big one. And guess what? I have no, count ‘em, no ideas for a present, or something to do, or anything. Not one. I live with the most wonderful man on the planet, who I love more than anything, and I can’t even come up with one crappy idea for an anniversary gift. And I have one month to go. That’s four weeks. Thirty days. No ideas. I warned you I suck.

So happy anniversary baby. Hopefully I’ll come up with something. But this might be the year that all I’ll have to give you is me. And right now I seem like a pretty lousy present. Even with a bow.

So, not to spend all my time complaining or anything, but….now I’m sick. Again. Have I mentioned the fact that I would really like a @$%*ing break? I have things I need to be doing! Important things! Like cleaning the bathtub. Or buying groceries. Or freaking out over all the other things I need to be doing while I’m cleaning the bathtub!

On the plus side, being sick is a great reason to take Nyquil. Ah, sweet, sweet elixir of sleep.