The title of this blog post has three things in it which I am very poor at, in far too many conditions. I am rarely silent, I am rarely patience, I lack physical grace in a manner which would have made Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy very proud. It has always been this way, and I have been consciously aware of it since I was about ten, when an event which I shall not talk about here made me aware of it. It has been on my mind, and dwelt upon thusly, ever since.
The problem with the way my brain works is, it never stops working. It is always turning over, always thinking and analyzing and poking and creating and destroying and, sometimes, just looking. This is not necessarily a bad thing, except when it does it too much and too quickly, something I was reminded of when the conversation in the last blog post’s comments area wandered onto the topic of hyperactivity and ritalin. Certainly, I am hyperactive. Very much less so than when I was younger — these days, I am more likely to be tired than I am to be running.
