So, what are you thinking?
So, what are you thinking about?
What are you thinking?
What are you thinking about?
What’s on your mind?
What’s going on in that head of yours?
Tell me what you’re thinking…
This…any of these…a combination of them…is like an anvil to my very core. Not all the time mind you, specific times. Particularly when escaping the lips of a woman. I don’t know why I don’t like discussing what I’m thinking. Scratch that, I do know why. It’s because 90% of the time I’m pretty sure they don’t want to know what I’m thinking. So then I have to lie, tell them something that I think they want to hear. Or, I say the little magic word, “Nothing” or “I’m not thinking anything.” Of course women know this is bullshit, it‘s not a magic word, it‘s more like a death sentence. They know I’m thinking something. So they insist;
Come on, tell me…
I want to know…
Why won’t you tell me?
I imagine it’s what went through Eve’s head when the bible blamed women for being the origin for original sin. As we all know, Eve ate the forbidden fruit. However, we also know that women are always right. Always right. So I’m sure when she heard what had been written in the bible she went, “Goddam…sorry. You know Adam ate that fruit. Look at my figure, do you think I would ruin this? Not to mention, we know women don’t stick weird things in our mouths…like hissing cockroaches…men do that. Why do I get blamed for starting all of this? Women are smarter than men. So, I wouldn’t have been that dumb to eat that thing. Adam did it. Because men are dumb. Do I need to mention the snake? A snake? Bitch please, I ran. The thing had weird skin and hissed…did I mention the hissing cockroaches?”
Those particular instances I mentioned? They go something like this.
After a little “afternoon delight.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I could really go for a meatball sub from Subway. Am I going to be late for work?
“That I enjoy these moments.”
Shit, she wanted something more. I‘ll get extra cheese on that sub.
“Wanna go again?”
After a surprise romantic encounter.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?”
She totally planned this tonight because she knew I would want to watch the football game.
“That I like it when you’re sweet.”
“Am I not always sweet?”
Not when you hit me the other night. I wonder if I can still catch the game.
“Yes, you’re always sweet.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
Fuck. What quarter is it? Can I sneak a peek at my watch?
“I’m not trying to. I mean that.”
“Why do you always ruin shit?”
After a quick romp of some serious fucking.
“I want to know what you’re thinking about, right now.”
Right now? Well I was just…fine…I was thinking about what an old woman would look like decapitated in a car wreck.
“That you have a fantastic ass.”
“That’s what you’re thinking? That’s romantic.”
Well, really, I’m kind of writing a story right now in my head. I need to wash my crotch.
“Romantic? We just had some seriously dirty fucking.”
“And you’re thinking about my ass? How come we don’t make love anymore?”
Because we hardly have sex anymore? What's that smell?
“What? Uhhhh…I don’t know.”
During an fight.
“Why are you being so quiet?”
I was totally thinking about what it would be like if zombies attacked the house right now.
“I’m just thinking.”
“What are you thinking about?”
That I totally tuned you out about 20 minutes ago and you didn’t even notice.
“What you’re saying. I can understand your point.”
“And my point is?”
Fuck…dug yourself in a hole again. Would the zombies be able to get through the bush to the window?
On a road trip.
“You haven’t said anything in, like, twenty minutes. What’s up in that head of yours?”
That you haven’t shut the fuck up for the last hour. Was that a deer?
“I’m just enjoying the scenery.”
How many people know we went on this trip? Can I possibly get away with killing her? I bet that was a deer.
“Yeah. I’m enjoying the view.”
“So you don’t have anything to talk about?”
Red Rum. Red Rum. Mmmmmm rum.
“Why do we always have to talk? Can’t we just ride a little in quiet?”
“So you want me to shut up? If you want me to shut up why don’t you just tell me to shut the fuck up?”
Shut the fuck up! I wonder if I‘m going to the bar tonight.
“I didn’t say that.”
Sitting in line at a fast food restaurant.
“So, what are you thinking about?”
What would happen if a jumbo jet landed on 75 in the middle of rush hour traffic.
“What I want to eat?”
“I just told you about my day and you have nothing to tell me?”
I wonder how much destruction that would cause. Seriously. Like…how big would the fireball be?
“I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“You weren’t paying attention?”
Yup. Because I just saw you 3 hours ago. So much happened in your life in 3 fucking hours. How would they get paramedics down to the scene?
“Do you ever listen to me?”
“Of course I do.”
I…could…go…all…day. I consider myself a creative person. A lot of times I can pretty much guarantee that my mind is somewhere else. I daydream, a lot. I don’t like conversing about random bullshit, unless I specifically ask. Most of the time I like to operate around a topic of discussion. I’ve been out to eat at restaurants and watched a woman ramble for hours about…Joe and Donna. While her boyfriend sits there pretending to look interested. Likely, he doesn’t give a fuck about Joe and Donna. The fact that Joe left to go out to the bar with his friends leaving Donna at home. That you just went shopping with her and she bought some new lingerie. Seriously. I think, my main problem is the ADD. When someone, male or female, starts a diatribe, I flash to being in one of my college classes. You know what I did in my college classes? I slept. Which is likely a contributing factor to why I failed college. I can’t stand being lectured, or talked to. Involve me in the conversation and we can go all day.
“So Donna and I went to the store and she bought some lingerie. Do you know what I bought?”
“Did you buy some lingerie?”
“No. But you’re going to like it. She’s mad though because Joe went to the bar last night without her. Would you go without me?”
“That would depend. Is it a guys night?”
That’s what I’m saying, keep me involved. If you’re going to ask me what I’m thinking…tell me what you’re thinking first.
After a quick romp of some serious fucking.
“Whew. Sweet Jesus. I was wondering though, why don’t we make love anymore? I think its because we seem to be growing apart. What do you think?”
“I think so. Why are we growing apart?”
“Probably because I want to fuck this guy I work with and you’re not doing it for me anymore.”
Ok…not really like that…but you get the idea. Involve me. Don’t just ask me. My mind is literally going in twenty different directions at any given point. It seriously never shuts the fuck up…unless I’m sleeping. I also hate, HATE, fighting. It seems like women love to fight. I like to argue, I don’t like to fight. I don’t even fight with men. If a dude walks up to me and starts talking shit, I calmly look at them and tell them to swing. I simply do not understand the logic of verbally fighting. Have a discussion. Keep a level head. Yet it seems that every time I hear that question, “So, what are you thinking,” a fight is about to start. If I actually TELL them what I’m thinking…a fight is about to start. Because I’m never thinking, apparently, what they want to hear. Even my lies don’t help me out. Obviously.
I’ve lost my train of thought. Where was I? Great…now all I can think about is what I want for dinner. What I’m doing tomorrow night. How my date is going to go on Friday. Why is my cat staring at me? The tick-tock of this clock is fucking annoying right now. I need to take dishes upstairs. Should I smoke a cigarette before I cook? I haven’t watched a movie in a couple of days…should I watch a movie? What movie? I wish I was Boba Fett.
See this? This is why you don’t ask me what I’m thinking.
So…what are you thinking? I’m an asshole aren’t I?