Is everyone my age becoming more and more pensive and philosophical (for this read insane) or is it only us chosen few? I cannot stop living my life without a subtext of rather serious significance underlining all my decisions and actions. As I whiz out west (as is my wont these days) I find myself considering my choice of car music, in case I end up tortoise-like on the side of the N3 with paramedics in abundance, snappy little jaws of life at the ready - as I would hate my final moments to be spent bleary eyed, overhearing some dullard bitching about the classic country music rocking my soon to be - disappearing world. I bet you couldn’t imagine anyone using the words rock and country music in the same sentence…..hah, you live and learn, baby.
I have to check myself, “Myself” I say in my strictest tone, “you cannot base choice of music decisions on potential musical tastes (or lack thereof) of some imaginary-in-some-potential-future blokes in unflattering navy jumpsuits with green lapels – it doesn’t make sense”. What does? Perhaps it is the being exactly half of ninety that is doing it, I take a pain killer while thinking…perhaps the pain is trying to tell me something and I should wait and see what happens to it instead of killing it off at the off, if you know what I mean.
Before the accusatory cries of ‘inherited hypochondria’ fill the room, let me say that health and sickness, life and death are not the only cards in this peculiar hand I find myself holding. Love and hate, relationships both good and bad are also in the pack as well as chance, luck and a sense of eternal hope. The layers seem to be peeling back, like the cracked end of a piece of slate, everything has a sense of significance and import that makes even the shortest interactions quite tiring. While looking at someone during conversation I feel compelled to try and hold my eyes still, I am aware of how my gaze is slowly drifting sideways like those little, black floaters on the eye, and I have to work hard to look as interested as possible for what seems like an interminable length of time – while thinking, if I let my eyes draw breath here, they’ll think I am not interested and then they’ll dislike me and then x y or z will happen and I end up having a long counter-conversation inside myself and of course you know what happens next, you lose the thread of their monologue and then starts the ‘they can see the blank look behind my eyes…who the hell is Aunty Rissole?....what the hell should I reply?.....’. You get the picture. Amazingly this happens with even your dearest ones, it does not necessarily indicate a lacklustre compadre.
It is just the internal monologue on steroids, we all have that inner voice, usually a soft whisper and according to those far more evolved that I, this useful tool can help to keep balance and perspective in one’s life, but when the inner voice takes over as an integral part of one’s every waking moment, an hilarious sound track on occasion to this tedium that can be daily life, perhaps it’s time to head for the hills and kick back for a week or two – for less than this have woman throughout history been burnt at the stake!
I have to check myself, “Myself” I say in my strictest tone, “you cannot base choice of music decisions on potential musical tastes (or lack thereof) of some imaginary-in-some-potential-future blokes in unflattering navy jumpsuits with green lapels – it doesn’t make sense”. What does? Perhaps it is the being exactly half of ninety that is doing it, I take a pain killer while thinking…perhaps the pain is trying to tell me something and I should wait and see what happens to it instead of killing it off at the off, if you know what I mean.
Before the accusatory cries of ‘inherited hypochondria’ fill the room, let me say that health and sickness, life and death are not the only cards in this peculiar hand I find myself holding. Love and hate, relationships both good and bad are also in the pack as well as chance, luck and a sense of eternal hope. The layers seem to be peeling back, like the cracked end of a piece of slate, everything has a sense of significance and import that makes even the shortest interactions quite tiring. While looking at someone during conversation I feel compelled to try and hold my eyes still, I am aware of how my gaze is slowly drifting sideways like those little, black floaters on the eye, and I have to work hard to look as interested as possible for what seems like an interminable length of time – while thinking, if I let my eyes draw breath here, they’ll think I am not interested and then they’ll dislike me and then x y or z will happen and I end up having a long counter-conversation inside myself and of course you know what happens next, you lose the thread of their monologue and then starts the ‘they can see the blank look behind my eyes…who the hell is Aunty Rissole?....what the hell should I reply?.....’. You get the picture. Amazingly this happens with even your dearest ones, it does not necessarily indicate a lacklustre compadre.
It is just the internal monologue on steroids, we all have that inner voice, usually a soft whisper and according to those far more evolved that I, this useful tool can help to keep balance and perspective in one’s life, but when the inner voice takes over as an integral part of one’s every waking moment, an hilarious sound track on occasion to this tedium that can be daily life, perhaps it’s time to head for the hills and kick back for a week or two – for less than this have woman throughout history been burnt at the stake!
totally get that - my problem is my inner monlogue sometimes cracks me up and sometimes makes me cry at inopportune times. How can that obsessive little voice have so much power?? "Shut up!" I tell myself, "stop commenting and start living! Surely no-one sane thinks this much!!" But then I go to yoga and the (seriously sexy) guru tells me to listen to my inner me and quiet the outside and hear my body. Good lord, if he only knew what my body was going on about....but then slowly as I work through my routine...silence, just breath and muscles and balance. Oh if only life was one long downward dog....
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