Kashmir. in Whey and Sonic Screwdrivers.

Who doesn’t have an interior monologue?

Are there truly people who aren’t constantly thinking? HOW DO YOU FUNCTION.

Well, it’s not constant-constant for me. I’m capable of zoning out and focusing on something else.

But thinking? Contemplating?

Picture it. Jersey. 1999. A teenage boy with his door closed. The lights are out sans a few candles. Blasting some Led Zeppelin. Dancing to himself with no care. Sometimes dancing to some Underworld. Dancing with no care. Dancing with himself. Thinking about everything. Sometimes thinking about nothing. Absorbing himself in the music.

Did you know I can dance?

TANGENT. Or whatever. Junior Prom is when I noticed I could dance. Just never occurred to me before. Fellow comrades were looking at my feet, as they were all over the place. Apparently most of my comrades were doing some sort of upper-body-only dance that always looks weird. This is the anecdote when I had a spontaneous dance-off with a fellow comrade of mine. I must have been running on adrenaline, as I was EXHAUSTED afterwards.

There was no winner or loser. It was just fun.

(Bonus information: When Rock Band was a thing, while I could play Livin’ On A Prayer on expert [BECAUSE I’M JERSEY], I spent most of my time drumming. You know what they say about guys who can hold a beat. Wait. Do you? Ask me if you’re not sure.)

So anyway.

I forget which friend suggested that perhaps there’s nothing mentally wrong with me. Accepting my mental “instability” has been obviously difficult. But for a single suggestion that I may be normal.

I needed to hear that.

To reiterate: Who actually doesn’t think to themselves? You’re in a relationship. Should you date her? Should you not? Alternating thoughts. Nobody would consider that mentally unstable.

Should I get the burrito? Should I get the taco? Nobody would judge you for thinking to yourself regarding this.

I have simply taken the step of naming those various thoughts. Those parts of me. Those playful arguments with myself. Alice sometimes sits on the edge of the bathtub and teases me “YOU JUST TOOTED.” I internally roll my eyes, and externally smile.

What. You toot, too, sometimes, when you’re on the can.

Everybody poops. Everybody thinks. So my interior monologue. My interior dialogue. My interior trialogue is heavy. I fear (of and for) those that don’t have any interior thoughts at all.

Perhaps I’m simply emotionally fragile at this juncture. I’m okay being emotional. I pride myself in being openly emotional. And to reference my expressions of emotional rebound, I will come out of this someday rising like a phoenix.

(Yeah, that’s technically Ramia [Dragon Quest], but roll with it.)

Now.

Get the Led out.

Get the Led out. Let it all out. Dance in your own time, in your own way. Dance like nobody is watching.