The only thing is, it's not on the surface of my mind. That is, it's not sorted out by the processors enough for me even to know what all it's about, let alone have some synaptic trails down which to chase it. Or maybe a better metaphor would be that I'm still feeling for the opening of the endless, no-exit maze of synaptic paths I sense I'm about to start dashing through, doubling back on myself and, at the same time, filming the whole thing from above for later viewing.
And reviewing.
You know, I used to wonder---I really did---why "self-conscious" means what it means, has those negative connotations, calls up uncertainty and doubt and insecurity. What the hell could make one insecure, I thought, about being aware of one's self?
