Internal Monologue

If I had known how to use a lighter at that age, and had
there been one in the house, I would have resorted
to burning that wretched excuse for a book.

In second grade we were to choose out an actual chapter book from the all-powerful second-grade-level-reading-bookshelf. I was one of the first to get the opportunity to pick the book that would start my career as a literate human being. Most of the others chose books like "Goosebumps" and the like. I took one look at those distasteful covers--and I judged them.

No, I would not be like the majority (thereby sealing myself as a hipster for the rest of my life). I would pick a book about dinosaurs since I was going to be a paleontologist, or marine life since I was going to be an oceanographer. Neither of such subjects existed.

I did find a book with an animal on the cover, some sort of rodent. It must have been trying to be a mouse because the title of that book was The Mouse and the Motorcycle. My second grade brain came up with the following equation: mouse + motorcycle=cool. I chose that book. I later regretted the decision. I morosely discovered that I had left out a key factor. The equation was not animal+motorcycle=cool, but it was, in fact: (mouse+motorcycle) \ Second-grade literature = why was this ever published and made into a movie? Now I had to spend twenty minuets of my daily schedule  reading it.

I told you that story to tell you this one.

Ever since I started to read real books in second grade, I developed a disembodied voice that narrated my life. Everything I did became narrated by my prolifically prattling brain. It often switched between first person narration and third person narration, but it has never left me. Over time it had lapsed into the depths of my less-than-labyrinthical mind.

Quite recently, however, it has resurfaced and now takes the shape (sound?) of a late-twenties tenor Englishman. (If you want to get a better idea of what my thoughts sound like, familiarize yourself with the actor Matt Smith.) It has also become quite observant to the point where the voice will not leave me alone to poop. It narrates my pokemon time with statements like, "Alice could not believe her eyes: she had actually won a bug-catching contest!" 

It is quite annoying, but then I realized if I could remember a greater portion of my day, I can use the voice to create a blog. Maybe then people will like me and I can be famous enough to make money to live my dream of becoming a mountain(wo)man in Oregon and sell stuff on the internet like t-shirts and hats and shoes and then I can die and be remembered for the good stuff.

Yeah.