in my case, it's the exact opposite. my body just goes ahead and cooks things any old way it wants, often in direct opposition to the one-sided, inane banter ricochetting around inside my noggin. for example, by the time i finish the sentence "about one more minute on this pasta.", my body has gone ahead and dumped it into the colander, and just in the nick of time, too.
another example is when, putting away leftovers, my body picks out this amazingly small tupperware container and, while i'm thinking "there's no way in h&ll this is going to fit in", proceeds to shovel the stuff in just fine.
the most irritating is this, which occurs nightly. let me preface this by saying that after lieing politicians, what i detest most in the world is not war or hunger (numbers 3 & 4, respectively) but doing the dishes. i've hated doing dishes ever since i can remember.
before i can make it to my chair after dinner and relax, i find my body picking up the dishes and removing them to the kitchen, much to my consternation. in order to save face, i mutter something like "i'll just get these out of the way. then, before i know what's happening, i'm scraping the d@mn things and, before i can recover from the shock, they're being stacked in the sink, the hot water is running, and the detergent has been squirted in. by the time i finish the thought "they'll be easier to wash if i let them soak while i watch tv.", i've somehow managed to wash about half of them. after that point, i've got no choice except to continue, rinse and drain the *&#&&*%%# things.
about once a week, by sheer force of willpower, i manage to extract myself somewhere from that sequence and actually sit down and relax a bit before doing the dishes. my goal is to eventually be able to let them sit till the next morning or even (and this is my secret dream) until somebody comes along and washes them for me.