As I lie here in my bed trying ever-so-unsuccessfully to fall asleep, an image of a sheep is burned into my mind. Thirty seconds ago I was surfing the channels on my television and decided to just turn it off. So I did, and then I grabbed a book from the insurmountable pile beside my bed. There was no math behind my landing on this particular channel; I just felt the urge to power off the tube at this particular point in time. As I hit the POWER button, I watched as a lone sheep stared into the camera and jawed at the intrusion of its pastoral domain.
At least twenty minutes pass before I realize that I haven’t opened the book I grabbed from the pile. Honestly, I have no idea which book I’m even holding. Instead, I’m imagining what that lone sheep was trying to tell me as I hit the POWER button on the remote control. I imagine its pink jowls as they munch on air; the sheep asking whether or not I’ve ever counted its relatives as an aid for falling asleep. Maybe I’ve done it once or twice, but most of the time I just think about imponderables, which is a phrase that both makes me giggle as well as leads me to the inexorable conclusion that I do some of my best thinking when I’m winding down the day. Apparently, I don’t count sheep. I converse with them.
As I mull over the above claim of whether or not I actually do my best thinking as I wind down, I turn to my side and place the unopened book back on top of the ridiculous pile, which I imagine will remain as such for at least six months, untouched. I grab my trusty scribble pad and pencil, and I write: Do I really engage in my “best thinking” at the end of the day? This is an interesting question. I guess the accuracy of such a declaration is contingent upon what I mean when I write (or even consider) a phrase such as “best thinking.” Is imagining a talking sheep really the best? I’m not sure how to measure such thinking, or what standard I should use to do so effectively, but as I lay here and ponder, I notice that the lone sheep has wandered again into the forefront of my mind. For some unknown reason a stupid, quasi-comedic cliché pops out of the sheep’s chomping mouth: “I count humans when I can’t sleep.” I sigh at the terrible and predictable joke. Whatever, I’m tired, but the joke does lead me to question its motivation.
What type of thinking is this? It certainly doesn’t feel like a productive time of thinking. I’m not really solving any problems or figuring out any equations. In fact, it is quite the opposite: I’m just lying here, juggling meaningless words and ideas for no benefit and no real reason at all save to lull myself into that wondrous state where sleep might whisk me away. So, certainly this thinking is not my “best thinking,” but by writing the previous sentence I have convinced myself that such thinking is indeed productive, especially since the end goal of this particular type of thinking is to fall asleep. Of course, since I am in such a tired state, I could be completely wrong, and everything that I think could just be discombobulated ingredients in a casserole of nonsense, which is probably the most accurate thing I’ve thought of thus far.
In my notebook I write: What does it mean to think productively? Since I am trying to wind down, it might be that I’m misinterpreting what it means to be productive, because the action of sleeping is quite the opposite, that is, sleeping is unproductive. I don’t do anything while I’m asleep. However, if I am unsuccessful in achieving this requisite state of sleep, then I certainly cannot hope to be very productive the next day, nor can I expect to have the strength or stamina to do my “best thinking,” either. So, maybe this thinking really is, in all actuality and in all honesty, the best. And, maybe this “best thinking” really is the most productive of all seeing that my potential for future thinking is greatly dependent upon whether or not I get the required amount of sleep.
As I stare at these two questions in my notepad, I begin to draw the body of a sheep, which I can tell you appears nothing like it should; it’s more like a muscular and sentient cloud than anything sheep-ish. I try again, but to no avail. All that I am capable of drawing is ugly ungulates, or repulsive ruminants. I am no artist, and apparently I am no thinker, either. I can see now (both literally and figuratively) that I have spent entirely too much time on this subject of thinking, so much so that I will undoubtedly be completely exhausted tomorrow, which proves to me that this “best thinking” is some of the worst that I have ever done, and counting sheep has never looked so good.
No comments:
Post a Comment