Stream of Consciousness
Oh, if our minds contained cabinets to organize our thoughts into neat files. Think how much better off Slocum would be.
Unfortunately, Slocum's brain contains no such system of organization to make things easier for us. Instead, dude spews thoughts from his mind in rapid, random fire. He has tons to say about his office and his home, simply because he has bottled it up and never said it aloud before, and he's just gonna say it as it comes to him. Check it out:
I'm sorry I ever told my wife what I think my mother said to me before she died. (I'm also sorry I said "puddy poo" in my sleep. Now she'll have that on me, also.) I don't know what ever made me feel I could trust her. (A man must make a resolution never to reveal anything personal to his wife.) I was not even sure my mother said it. I wasn't sure she recognized me for more than an instant that last few times I went to visit her in the nursing home or remembered I was there as I sat on her bedside without talking for the twelve, then ten, minutes I stayed. (7.95)
Slocum doesn't even stop there. He goes on to talk about candies, his sense of hearing, and the possibility losing his sight. Does this guy know what a filter is? Let's pause for a moment to catch our breath.
Sometimes Slocum's stream of consciousness pours so rapidly from him that he transitions from one topic to a completely different one in the same sentence. He'll go from thinking about mice to thinking about his summer vacation to thinking about his affairs all in one paragraph. Slow down, Slocum: we're trying to keep up with you.