I think I have finally gotten sick of myself. Considering how much time I spend with myself (thirty years straight without even a thirty second break), it’s amazing this hasn’t happened sooner. I don’t want to be misunderstood: I like myself just fine, I’m just feeling like certain parts of my self are starting to wear me out. For example, the time as I write this is 12:34am (side note: this is my favorite time of day, am or pm). I’m exhausted, but I will probably stay awake for another hour or so, even though I know that my daughter will come wake me up at 6:30am. I would go to bed, but I already know I won’t sleep; I have been a raging insomniac since I was a kid, and though it has improved over the years, I still have erratic cycles in my sleep patterns. So, yeah, I could do without the night-owl side of my personality.
Another one of my irritating facets: This non-stop mind of mine. Yes, I am a talker, but it just so happens that I’m a thinker, too. Sometimes it’s deep, but much of the time it’s just stupid and repetitive, nothing worth voicing. I make a lot of plans in my head, but they don’t often go anywhere, and I love to beat ideas to death until they don’t have an ounce of coherence about them. To understand how this works, say the word “book” over and over and over again until it becomes nothing more than a strange sound coming out of your mouth. That’s how it is inside my head. I’m also great at filling in the blanks with half-baked assumptions that nearly always come back to bite me in the ass, and of course, replaying past events not the way they happened, but how I wish they had happened.
I think I’m also getting tired of the sound of my own voice. I’ve become so rooted in this part of myself that it has become somewhat of a trademark of mine: I’m the girl who talks. A lot. My husband dreads going certain places with me because there’s always a good possibility I will run into someone I know and start a conversation. I understand his frustration; there is nothing more difficult than pulling me away from a good conversation. I have tried to be quiet and observant, but when I do that, people assume something is wrong, and then I have to explain with great insistence that I am fine, I’m just not feeling very talkative at that moment. A shocking concept, I know, but there are times when I just don’t feel like saying much. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.
So what to do about these problems? Honestly, I don’t think I’ll do anything, simply because it isn’t my style. Not to say that I’m lazy, but I think these little tics of mine are permanent, and not bothersome enough to worry about. I could have worse glitches, like unforgivable body odor or a violent temper or a proclivity for improper word usage. I’m not happy about any of this stuff right now (the fact that it is now nearly 2:00am does not help), but I know that I’ll soon be distracted enough to let them slide and pretend that I’m just fine and dandy until the next time I’m bored in the middle of the night and decide to pick on myself. But it’s okay because of one little thing I failed to mention: I am very good at distracting myself. Thank God for computer solitaire and iPods…
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