I write;I think;I know.

Fuzzy Nuts

"Oh dear," said my cat, "you're blind again."

"Not so much blind," I said, "as lost."

"No," said my cat, "blind. Not being able to see that proves it."

"I'm not in the mood," I sighed, "to play no win semantics with you."

"Indeed," said my cat, "frustrating isn't it."

"Certainly," I agreed, "reminds me of an old psychology joke."

"It's not funny," said my cat, "it's the kind of thing which traps you in a self-diagnostic cycle."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Of course you do," purred my cat. "What would you do if you were accused of being in denial."

For a moment I fell quiet as I considered my cat's words.

"See," said my cat, "even hypothetically you're running it through your mind bouncing thoughts of both sides of the argument attempting to discover the truth of the matter. You don't reject it, you don't minimize it, and you're not trying to displace it. You even assign it the status of fuzzy fact and include it in your continuing calculations."

"Put it that way," I said, "it does sounds like a trap."

"For you," said my cat, "it is. Enlightenment may sound appealing from a blissful ignorance perspective, but it's got the oddest side-effects."

“Really,” I replied sounding un-convinced.

"Really," asserted my cat. "It presents you with an unresolvable paradox. Accept that it's not true and move on."

"And then what," I asked.

"And then realize that the person who said it," grinned my cat, "is in denial and is displacing it onto to you."

"I think," I muttered as the truth began to dawn, "the psychologists call it transferance."

"Whatever they miscall it," said my cat, "allowing another to displace their personality disorder onto you is the reason you're sitting here in the dark talking with me."

"It's begun to affect the children," I admitted.

"I can see that," said my cat.