And another thing...

Maybe it's because I'm an only child. But I obsess on other minds. Not so much in the Descartes sense. I mean, I know you're out there. I know you, whoever you are, I know you have a mind. I don't mean to be insulting. I don't think that the rest of you are windbreakers and Mets caps hung on squishy, hairy automatons. But you all seem so confident in one another.

I've never felt confident about you other minds. You scare me. You're so mysterious. Some of you seem to be driven by a daily task list that you tick off with efficient zeal as you encounter and tackle each new chore. Some of you are fun. Some of you are workaholics. Some of you are mothers. Some are fathers. But I know that's not all you are. I know that you who present me with a simple self-analysis are hiding from me. You have these secret selves tucked away behind your task lists and your maternal instincts and your schedules and your Blackberries.

If I could just know one of you. If I could just crawl into one mind and sit there, making notes in a shruken steno pad, nodding or scratching my head as I listen to your innermost thoughts or view your Bergmaresque thoughtfilms. Would you let me? Please. Oh, I know. You don't have a choice. No room in the inn. All that. You don't get a say in the matter, anyway. I'm sure you wouldn't mind having me visit, but you don't call the shots. But if there was only a way...