The three pound universe

Sometimes, in moments of quiet contemplation, I find my thoughts taking a strange and metaphyscial bent. I blame my brain for taking me on a ride to understand infinity, and such self-referential impossibilities like thinking about thinking and the Carly Simon tune You're So Vain.

Whenever this happens, I have to remind my brain who is boss.

Me: You're doing it again. You're thinking about how you're thinking about thinking. That isn't doing anyone any good. Wouldn't you rather use that 10 percent of yourself to, oh I don't know, learn French or something?

Brain: I don't think so.

Me: Very funny. You know, you've got some nerve. What are you, anyway? You're just a needy glob of gelatinous meat. And not attractive, I might add. Have you looked in the mirror? Seriously.

Brain: That hurts.

Me: You can't feel any pain. You've got no nerve endings. I could stab you with a sharp probe and you would be none the wiser.

Brain: You don't have the guts.

Me: Alright, that's it. We're not going on the fall foliage tour.

Brain: Fine. And you can take care of your breathing, heartbeat and eye blinking yourself.

Me: I can blink my eyes whenever I want. See? I'll do it again.

And.......scene! You get the idea.