“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.
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
...while we were having that dreaded conversation about not seeing each other anymore, I remember finding a hair of hers tangled in the fabric of my jacket. At the time it meant nothing, but I gently pulled it off of my sleeve, rolled down my window, and let the breeze whisk it away. It means a lot more to me now.