The Voice in My Head.

I've always had an odd, somewhat demanding relationship with the voice in my head. And the one in other people’s heads for that matter.

I remember going on a road trip when I was little. My older brother was driving me caaa-razy (for once - usually it was the other way around). He would not stop humming the Star Wars theme song.

And his humming was by no means quiet.

“Sing it in your head!!” I yelled. Then proceeded to pout and pester and push...and pout...until he stopped (not much has changed, one might notice...oh how I kept up - er, keep up - such a façade of innocence).
Who knows what happened (I do have a horrific memory, after all), but I seem to recall being laughed at. My parents thought it was funny that I would say such a thing.

Sing a song in your head. HA.

What’s wrong with that request, I ask? Does no one else have this kind of relationship with the goddamn voice in their noggin? Oh, perhaps instead you prefer - à la Trissi - to talk out loud to yourself.
No, no. Everyone’s got that tiny little angel. And that big fat devil (happy 20th Homer!) - they’re called thoughts.

Man oh man, I even made the horrifyingly obtuse assumption that everyone’s inner-voice (as in all people all over the world) - speaks English. You know, just like me.

Such a patronizingly American supposition.

(In my defense, I was young and naïve when I thought this and really had no concept of the human mind and that it’s possible for people to think in their own tongue. Silly, silly moi.)

Nevertheless, I am f-e-d u-p with the loud, whiny, abusive, relentless, enabling voice inside my head.
Totes O.I.

(That means over it for those of you not down with my colloquialisms.)

From my youth onward, I’ve been hyper-aware of that noisy little monster that sounds, unsurprisingly, just like me. (And I do mean monster.)

We have an extremely tumultuous and tempestuous relationship.

I’ve judged the voice. Tried (unsuccessfully) to squelch it. Disagreed with it. Paid attention to it (perhaps not as often as I should). Told it to shut-the-eff-up cooooountless times.
But there is one regard I have towards the voice that blows all other feelings out of the water. I find that, more than anything, I am angry with my stupid, vapid inner-voice.

It manages at last to work out the perfect sentence, form the perfect speech - then goes and forgets everything before I can say it aloud or write it down.

It tells me my outfit is nice when in reality...ah hem. (Exhibit A - yikes).

It tells me not to eat that fifth cookie, then completely rationalizes my eating it by saying I’ll be good starting tomorrow.

It keeps me awake at night. Good LORD does it keep me awake at night. Insomniarama indeed. No matter how tired my body may be, that little voice inside my head just keeps talking and talking and talking. Nada but nonsense.

Unfortunately, though, it seems like I’m stuck with that damn voice for as long as we both shall live.

Wamp wamp.