I looked up in my cubicle at the pictures that I had pinned to the fabric walls, and all of the sudden I could make out very distinct patterns in the way they were hung.

"This picture has lamp post, hung over that picture to extend that picture's lamp post. This picture with cradled right arm, hung next to this picture of cradled left arm. Lower row of three photos all of authority figures in grass, etc...." so on and on for days afterward.

Because I had mounted them in such haste with very little thought of positioning, I knew that something under-pining had dictated those choices. Clearly, my subconscious was working as a separate force. I drew diagrams, finding patterns every which way. Under which I wrote the words: "This means you much step back always, and question your sub-conscious."

Whether this notion is absurd doesn't really matter anymore. I have never shrugged it, and it has become deeply ingrained in my psyche. More than anything I want to know why I do and say everything I do and say.

Do I have motives, do I plot? I certainly don't feel like I do, but here is where the separation that I am either delusion-ally, or intuitively aware of rears it's crown. I realize that if I don't know myself, than I should never expect anybody else to know me either.