A correlation exists between a person’s discomfort and his inability to harness coherent thought. The greater the degree of discomfort, the less lucid his thinking. Despite suggestions to the contrary [that irrational thought and ingenuity feed off one another], the confusion that accompanies a lack of lucidity does not necessarily pair well with creativity. Creativity suffers in the face of discomfort just as much, if not more, than does clear thinking. I know this from personal experience.
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The loud, gurgling noises emanating from my stomach provide evidence that my digestive system is in an uproar. The unpleasant sensations I feel in my mid-section—like an angry live snake is battling to burst through my abdominal wall—confirm that diagnosis. Understanding the diagnosis does not mean I understand its etiology. What, I wonder, is causing my gut to deliver such a combination of distress and pain? Did I consume something poisonous? More importantly, what is the best way to put an end to this unwelcome interruption to my satisfaction and serenity?
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My reputation as an apple pie afficionado has earned me some fabulous rewards. Just a few weeks ago, some wonderful friends delivered a spectacularly good apple pie, produced by a bakery renowned for its extraordinary pies and other such baked goods. Yesterday, another friend came by to give us an apple pie she had baked; it, too, was remarkably good, leading me to believe that the baker of said pie deserves a global following. The fact is, though, that it’s not my love of apple pie that so rewards me. It is the fact that I have such wonderful, loving friends. I am a fortunate man, indeed. By the way, the uproar in my digestive system preceded the pie—which bears no responsibility for my complaints.
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If repairing defective parts of one’s body were as easy as replacing computerized modules in today’s automobiles, I would willingly pay for both the parts and their installation. The number of body parts that require replacement is significant, though, so I might have to secure several loans in order to complete them. Just like cars, though, there’s no doubt a point at which the cost of repair compares unfavorably to the cost of replacement. That being the case, though, it might be worth dealing with the situation in a similar way one might deal with a car that’s in perfect condition, except for the engine…just replace the engine. In the case of humans, though, it would be the reverse; keep the engine (the brain) and replace the remainder of the defective parts. As I consider this, though, it occurs to me that I would want to make a number of upgrades to the mental and emotional components in my brain. Indeed, I might want to keep only a few legacy parts and replace the rest. Have I already written about this? I suspect so, because these are not new ideas for me. Hmm. What happens to cars that simply cannot be repaired? They are left to rust in the junkyard.
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