Morning of mowing

Morning of mowing the lawn, in part. Morning of taking care of the business end of "the real work." Morning of spinning Duplo people on their heads and arguing in my head with Adobe InDesign forum folks about the pros and cons of ID's paragraph composer, even though I decided the argument isn't worth it. Wonder why my mind wastes time with those things it decides it doesn't want to think about. Remember when I was much younger being baffled by the psychiatrist's question: "Does your mind play tricks on you?" I had no idea how to answer. Even though the phrase "mind play[ing] tricks" is something of a cliche, the question, set in an all-too-serious context, became exceedingly strange: pure defamiliarization. I couldn't really respond at the time, struck dumb as I was. Settled for some variation of agreement with the doc, tantamount to "whatever." Later, in the night, far from the office, very near sleep, my earlier confusion made sense to me: what am I if not my mind? To separate "[my] mind" from "me" was word trickery. A language-enforced schizophrenia. No wonder they thought I was crazy. The better question for the docs, perhaps, would have been something like "Do you think you hear things you're not quite sure you're hearing and that part of you simultaneously knows there's no reason to be hearing?" or "Do you get confused in wondering if you have just been thinking or just been speaking aloud?" Some junk like that. Time for lunch.