Random thoughts

Random thoughts lead to more random thoughts lead to more random thoughts untl I just want them all to stop. Sometimes my mind will stop on a random thought long enough to hope for a return to sanity only for it to move on with a jerk, snapping my head back, taking me along as an unwilling passenger. Some of the thoughts are really good, great even, if I could just get my mind to stop long enough to get a good look at them but it won't, can't it sometimes seems.
Fortunately, this isn't the constant state of my mind. It usually happens around a full moon or when I'm about to get sick or when my life has been so busy I can't think at all. When it isn't happening it feels quiet, calm or just plain boring because let's face it, a wild ride is better than no ride at all. Right now I'm thinking about the yummy mocha I'm drinking, if I'm really making the best use of my day off and whether or not I need to pee.

I wonder if monks or nuns or yogis have days full of random thoughts or if they ever get to a meditative state of mind where that never happens? Do they have days when every attempt to meditate is intruded upon by thoughts of a past lover who was particularly proficient? If they have thoughts like that do they have to go flog themselves or lie face down on a stone floor until their face goes numb? This sounds very deep and meaningful to me now but when I read it ten years from now will I shake my head in amazement of the lack of maturity it illustrates for a woman of 41? Only the person I will be 10 years from now can say for sure.

Whoa, running out of things to say... but that can't be right. I never run out of things to say, especially when you get a little vodka in me, then it becomes a question of will it be possible to shut me up. With limited research to date, the answer appears to be "NO". However, I find the chatty effects of vodka to be far preferable to the altered sanity effects of tequilla. Who wouldn't? I like to believe that while under the effect of vodka I am witty and charming. I happen to know that while under the effects of tequilla I become melancholy and inappropriately honest, not a pretty sight.

Listen to me writing about this as if I have vast stores of memories of drinking either vodka or tequilla to choose from. The truth is I don't really like to drink all that much. Beer rarely sounds good to me, wine looks like it should taste like Kool-Aid but never does and hard alcohol, other than vodka, just sounds more grown up than I ever feel. Mochas, on the other hand, yum. Especially Peet's mochas which taste only vaquely of chocolate and have that real whipped cream floating on top because really... what's the point of getting a mocha without whipped cream? There is no point, kind of like this unfortunate writing episode. Points are really not my strong suit. Meandering, on the other hand, is something at which I excel. Why does a story have to have a point? Sure, it makes for more satisfying reading but any reading can be satisfying in the right setting, like the bathroom, sitting on the pot. Do you really need a point whilst pooping? I think not, it sounds painful.