Feeling a little possessed are we?

No we're not.

Stop that. Noone's talking to you.

You're just afraid they'll think I'm prettier than you.

Are NOT!!

I always do. But then I think there is a bitter Jewish man living somewhere inside me, so take it for what it's worth.

Heck, erika, not only do I have other people in my head, they've got names. There's Martha, the Old Woman Who Hates Me, a cold, bitter crone of a woman in a long black dress with narrow white cuff and collar. She has a large purse on her lap, and she sits dead upright in a rocking chair. She does not rock. She's too busy glaring at me, reminding me of my essential worthlessness and how I've betrayed everything I've been raised to believe.

Fortunately, on the other side of the room is Otho, her brother, who's leaning back on a bench with a feed cap pulled down over his eyes. He's chewing on a plug of tobacco, and he has passable aim on the spittoon. He likes dirty jokes and has a cackle that would curl hair. His favorite game in all the world is sneering at Martha.

Then there is the Puritan Council, several very prim men who make rulings on all my actions and whisper among themselves on doubtful matters. They are, fortunately, amenable to negotiation, and I believe I've caught more than one of them smiling very faintly. This is a very recent development, one that gives me hope.

Why don't I toss Martha out into a snowbank? Because she only stays in that rocking chair when I'm watching her. If I turn my back, she'll be gone, slithering into more hidden corners and conspiring with that large, furry thing with the dark claws. The thing with the furry creature, though, is that it is on no one's side. It terrifies me when it gets close enough to the light that I can pick out the claws and teeth and the glittering eyes. It has no soul, and it would dearly like to curl up at my feet and watch as I decide civilization is not nearly what it's cracked up to be.

Maybe I'll move this to my LJ later. Psychological purse-cleaning is not necessarily a spectator sport.

Well, I started it. So far I've been able to identify the person that posts here, the AniMunch, The Critic-who combines the functions of Martha and the Puritans, and Susie Mainstream- The person I was trying so hard to be before I got here...the one who rented "How to Lose A Guy...etc." Beverly if you still want to tag me, you can.

Thanks, dear. I've been mostly (brain-)dead all day, so catching this post is a serendipitous moment. Off to change tag...

I was thinking I sounded too mental now. And of course, Kay gives me her dictation sometimes...I'm not much like her but she'd be pissed offwith me for ignoring her, and I don't think I want that.

There, done. Sorry, I got distracted again in the middle. There's just no hope today.

But look! Pretty shiny new tagline. Thanks!

erika, if your mental processes are off, then so are mine. I do hear the dialogue in my head, in the appropriate voices. And hearing screaming matches in my head is not fun--generally because they're snarking so fast I can't get all the notes down.

Maybe the last one:

******

Better the devil you know, people say. But they don't take your route home from school.

The other side of the street torments you on an evening like this, taunts your memories. Has that headstone always tilted like that, or is the fog pushing it slowly over? Shouldn't the lights be stationary? They're just faraway kitchen windows, after all. Not bobbing, nor slowly winking. Not.

You cling, instead, to the featureless wall on your other side whose uneven mortar scratches your searching hand. You've never seen past the twisted metal decorations to see what's behind it. Tonight ignorance is bliss.

Excellent all around.

I love this whole commnity. And Teppy is brilliant.