Oh, the perfidious rotter, my own subconscious at war with it's host. The first thought that springs to my mind is that I my dear brain is extremely ungrateful. After all, am I not a most gracious host? Do I not require almost nothing from it, and summon it to work sporadically, with very generous lunch breaks? Do I not entertain it enough?
Yet, why this rebellious upset. What force of nature is compelling me to attempt to accomplish something at this very unholy hour. I do feel utterly hurt and betrayed by my dear brain. I suppose I am gifted to not posses a very fine specimen, otherwise I would feel that I am doing society a great injustice by not accomplishing anything. But, as the case may be, I am free of that troublesome burden of shaking the world. As such, I am fit to do as I please, but, sigh, I am being conspired against.
They say no man is safe in his own home. I no longer feel safe in mine own body. Who knows what idle acts it may spur me to attempt. Acts such as cleaning, oh, cleaning, my eternal enemy. Or other such time wasters, such as studying, researching, or, dare I say it.....working. Oh brain, thou art a fickle friend and have never been of much use to me. I half suspect that I could live a wholesome life (by current standards) without your presence. Come to think of it, there are many who have tried such a feat as complete brain-killing, either by drug abuse or willful neglect, while others were born almost completely lacking such a loathsome equipment, which, in their case, makes any attempts at destroying such a pathetic creation completely superfluous.
Need I point out that about 70% of these very singular individuals became pop stars, or was it evident to all? The other 30% went for public office.
Are you brain dead?