There is a strange high-pitched trilling sound going on somewhere near me. It’s right at that level where it is so sharp it pierces your eardrums, making it practically impossible to think.
I’m reminded of taking exams. Where the invigilators invariably start click-clacking on their high heels, stand behind you, and peer over your shoulders to see what you are writing. How can anyone think under such circumstances?
The thinking process is such a delicate, even fragile, thing. I have a great respect for thinking time. Thinking is my long-time companion. I seek refuge in thinking, I draw strength from thinking. Thinking lets me see the world in all its glorious hues and all its dreariest colours.
Thinking is to me what water is to fish (or something like that).