My inner voice is the bastard child of Monday, twice removed, left under a rock, and adopted by demonic monkeys. No joke.
She apparently is auditioning for a role in a soap opera, the one that calls for an evil best friend who seems to be on the good girl’s side, but secretly is trying to rip apart her whole entire life. Hugs hugs, stab stab. She’s been practicing on me.
I’d repeat what she’s been saying, but I’m pretty sure it’s too vulgar for this site. Your eyes would probably spontaneously combust and melt into your brain. And then not only would I have an evil inner voice, but I’d also be left with melted zombie readers, who could probably no longer read… I do not need that kind of stress.
But like the helpless friend on the soap opera, I have to wonder… is she right? Because she is me, in a sick, twisted way… that big mean voice is coming from me, and I’m never wrong…. But she’s so mean, and I don’t want her to be right, because then I’m wrong, and then what really is right? (*passes out Tylenol to everybody, refills coffee*)
When you add up all the voices and thoughts and feelings together all you get is an absolute stand still. I’m hyper active, I hate standing still. And I bartard my patience for a tank of gas months ago. And maybe, just maybe the yellow stripes in my wallpaper ARE moving. (go google the yellow wallpaper, short story)
And maybe, just maybe them fancy scientists should drop everything and figure out a vaccine for those of us who lack confidence. Because I’d take two please, and a side of fries, and a chocolate shake, hold the cherry and whip cream. And put a rush on that order please, because I really don’t know what I’m doing, and it’s really annoying, andddd it’s getting expensive to keep that inner voice drunk and quiet.
Dear Monday, I’ve found your child, please come claim her. Thanks.