Wednesday, April 04, 2012

Lacing Up My Therapy Again - or - Don't Worry, That Noise You Hear When You Are Me Is Just A Bunch Of Brain Midgets

“The little people in my head” is no way to start any kind of story that you want people to take seriously. That being said, the little people in my head that tell me when things are good or when I’m in trouble or if I might have stepped in dog shit are all having a convention right now. They all have reverbed-out, squeeky little voices that pierce though my thoughts as I try to get stuff done. It’s getting kinda loud up there these days.
“Quit smoking, God damn it.”
“Why are you sleeping on the couch again?”
“It’s really time to get your taxes done, slackass.”
“I like this new scruffy beard look on you, bub. Makes you look a bit wild. Like you don’t give a shit. Yeah, put on that green head band too! Now were are talking serious oddball. Fuck yeah.”
“Thanks for taking us all to the conservatory the other morning. We like tropical field trips.”
“I think that carrots are sweeter than candy, does that alarm anyone else up here?”
“Yes, you did just get a big old paycheck but you gotta pay off that credit card. If you don’t you’ll never be able to afford anything fun this summer, like a root canal.”
“Get off yer keister and go for a run, you damn smoker.”
“That’s a lot of dirty laundry, dude.”
“There is nothing in the fridge for the third week in a row. Brown rice and cauliflower is good and all but damn, mofo, changing hot sauces night after night isn’t the same thing as actual variety.”
“Did you hear that? I think it was the neighbors having sex. Wait. Nope. Spin cycle.”
“Buy a plane ticket somewhere. We don’t need leg room. We are just little people in a bigger person.”
“This whole thing makes me want to scream into a glass full of bourbon. Or maybe just drink a glass full of bourbon. Or maybe just scream. Anyone got a lighter? I need a smoke.”
“Quit smoking, dumbass.”
“Maybe getting a dog is the best idea you’ve had in years. So why don’t you have a dog yet? I bet having a dog would be a lot more helpful to your situation than not doing laundry.”
“I wanna grow some veggies. Hot peppers. Tomatoes. Carrots. Morals.”
“Where are your running shoes anyway, slackass. Do you even know?”

I kinda like it. So many conversations going on up there. So many views of my little world from further inside my little world than I usually care to admit. I like to think of the little people in my head all jammed up in a cosmic fish bowl that is floating through the void of space somewhere in my skull. Almost like a Gary Larson comic strip combined with a Monty Python skit with a good slathering of self loathing undertones to it. Now where are my damn running shoes. I gotta go for a therapy run and listen some more.


  1. My opinions on your post - or - Please write something now because Physics is making me go koo-koo-KRAZY

    This sounds very similar to something I have, the only difference being that it's one voice, and it's what I call "the little voice of reason". You know, the little voice that screams out as loud as it can (which actually turns out to be barely audible) "NooOOOOOOOO!! Don't" the moment you have the cig in your mouth and the lighter in hand. Yea, I have that faint fella urging me to not stop working and come online, to not light a cig, to not drink that 5th cup of coffee, and so on. But the beast of habit just overwhelms the poor sucker.
    But yes, all comparison aside (and this post was a delightful read) ... erm, I really need more. No one is blogging, and I am done reading everyone's blogs. The only guy blogging this week is Tripp, and his posts are shorter than my dong after sun bathing in the Arctic. Even Krumbine is not blogging dammit! And his blog is about as diverse as the hairs on Donald Trump's head... and what I mean to say by that is that after a couple of posts, you'd prefer to read the Donald's head instead. I love his blog, but the urge to rip apart the screen of my laptop becomes overwhelming after more than two car vlogs viewed in quick succession. Please Obby... you're my last hope. Well... there's Misspacman, but you two are my last .. hopes. I count on your wonderful posts to take me on that emotional roller coaster, with the accompaniment of that light pleasant drizzle of humour and oddity. I am need for that ride Obby. I have read all the earlier posts... and am hungry. I am like a wolf cub, asking for milk from that headband wearing alpha wolf of Blogland. Ok.... scratch the disturbing image of the last line. Just write something won't you please? Anything my good man! Accept this pitiful request by this wretched soul.

    Your faithful, yet irregular fan,