My friend Bob told me a story once. He spent a winter in a cabin outside Whitehorse with only a dog for company. When the thaw finally came, he and his dog got into his truck and headed into town to pick up supplies. Suddenly, without warning, a thought popped into his head: "I wonder if I have enough money?" He said it didn't feel like it was his thought. It felt like it was something from outside him that had just been floating around looking for a brain to land in, in the way that a mosquito might cruise around looking for a patch of skin and a full vein.
I felt that way yesterday. We went up north on Friday, and spent the weekend eating, sleeping, reading, sleeping some more, helping my father-in-law with chores, and listening to Maddie and her friend play make-believe and go, "Wow," as marshmallows turned black, swelled up, and burst. (They burned a lot more than they ate.) The car broken down on the way home, so what would usually be a three and a half hour journey was closer to six, but it wasn't until we came over the hill and saw the tops of Toronto's skyscrapers that I thought, "I have to finish writing that summary. And archive everything from the code review study. And..."
They really didn't feel like my thoughts.