Picking on the little guy

January 24, 2008 at 6:18 pm (in my head, present)

There is a little man in my head. He’s a cross between the Lucky Charms leprechaun and an older Dustin Hoffman.

He’s running from side to side with a look on his face like a golden retriever watching a tennis match screaming “What next? What next? What next?” He’s pressing the little buttons that make my jaw clench (hello night guard, my old friend) and he’s pulling on the string that makes my brow furrow. He likes to run down my tendons to my neck, where he ratchets up the tension. Then he moves on to my lower back where he plays a little timpani.

All of these antics would be bearable if he would just slow down. It’s the frenzy and the frazzle that makes me want to climb in there and strangle the bastard. Doesn’t he know that this is California? – land of the mellow and home of the chill? Tell him to go peddle his services back in uptight Boston where I left him a couple of years ago. Come to think of it, how did the little bugger find me? I was dodging him so well, what with the lunchtime workouts and the Saturday naps. Somebody must’ve given me away. It was you Ambition, wasn’t it? Or was it you Drive?

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1 Comment

  1. Jess said,

    Oh man. Do whatever it takes to get the little man to stop running! Except, like, killing someone. Don’t do that.

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