imagine a man sitting on the front porch of a house. in his hand is a plastic bottle of bubbles which he is dipping a neon green wand into before bringing it to his lips to blow a shiny-wet bubble. the man's bubbles are large and elaborate and it's easy to see he has been making such bubbles for many years.
after blowing a bubble the man would lean back in his chair and watch it slowly roll through the air seeming to marvel at something in the scene. after it popped in the trees or left his sight he would meticulously dip his wand in the bottle to blow another bubble.
now imagine a small child walking down the sidewalk, hands in pockets. the child stops directly in front of the bubble blowing man's house. at first the child watches a few of his large funny shaped orbs drift into the air above. the child also watches the serenity on the man's face and sees that the bubbles please him. the man doesn't notice but the child is inching closer to his spot on the porch until the child is standing right before him. he smiles kindly at the youth as he prepares to breath through the wand's opening again. as soon as the bubble breaks free of the plastic wand, the child reaches up and swats it with an open hand. the man startled looks at the child who is smiling slyly back at him.
the man quickly collects himself and blows another bubble but this time aims it over the child's head. the child jumps smacking it dead. the man blows another in a different direction. the child runs it down easily sniping it out of the air. the man now leans forward in his chair and begins blowing his delicate bubbles in all directions but the child is bounding from spot to spot leaping, crouching and pouncing on each and every bubble. and now there is greater flourish to the child's execution, killing them between clapping hands, karate chops or simply running a chest through them all while laughing maniacally.
after a very short while of this the man scans the air over his lawn looking for a single surviving bubble but there were none. in hanging his head down he saw an uneven puddle of bubble goo spilled at his feet from his sloppy and rushed technique. the man stares at the child willing the walk to continue. the child stares at the man willing him to blow another bubble.
now imagine this man is sitting in your mind and that every thought you have throughout the day is represented by one of his bubbles. and the walking kid, well hopefully that is the obvious part of this little story.