What if the rambling isn’t observational—it just lets me live inside my head for a minute?

 

My brain is a browser with forty-seven tabs open.

 

One is wondering if I remembered to water the plants.

 

One is replaying something I said in 2018.

 

One is trying to remember the actor from that one movie where he was also in the other thing.

 

One is asking if birds ever get embarrassed when they miss a landing.

 

Another is debating whether I should repaint a canvas that’s been sitting against the wall for two weeks.

 

I wonder how many people are thinking about someone who has absolutely no idea they’re being thought about.

 

I wonder if my dad would’ve liked the music I’m listening to now.

 

I wonder how many strangers remember me for reasons I’ll never know. Maybe I held a door at exactly the right moment. Maybe I cut them off in traffic. Maybe they still own the sweater I sold them fifteen years ago.

 

Sometimes I think my brain is less of a filing cabinet and more of one of those junk drawers everyone has in their kitchen.

 

Rubber bands.

 

Expired batteries.

 

Birthday candles.

 

A screwdriver that doesn’t belong there.

 

Important things.

 

Completely useless things.

 

Somehow all sharing the same space.

 

I don’t actually want to organize it.

 

I think I’d miss the surprises.

 

I’d miss remembering a second-grade classroom because someone walked by wearing the same perfume.

 

I’d miss hearing a song and suddenly being twenty-two.

 

I’d miss the weird little detours.

 

Maybe our minds aren’t supposed to be efficient.

 

Maybe they’re just supposed to be interesting enough to keep us company.