My roommate has been driving me crazy. She is a regular motor-mouth. She babbles incessantly about everything under the sun, even when I’m trying to read or balance my bank statement.
Sometimes I go outside in a vain attempt to escape her, but she follows me right out the door, chattering
She criticizes my clothes, nags me about my housekeeping, and questions the plans I’ve made for the day. She mocks me, teases me, and can be downright mean sometimes.
(And my maroon tights DO NOT make me look like an ox, Miss Smarty Pants.)
I spent three hours baking a birthday cake for my son which turned out slightly lop-sided. Okay, a lot lop-sided. “See? I told you this was a bad idea,” she bloviated. “Why didn’t you just buy a cake at the store?”
She’s at her worst at bedtime. “Please hush,” I beseech her. “I want to go to sleep. Why do you have to talk all the time?” Sleep is the only way I can escape her constant yammering, short of a concussion.
My life’s a mess because of this horrible woman who lives – not in my house – but inside my head. She’s been with me all my life but it seems as though she has become more neurotic lately and second guesses everything I do. I’ve decided to initiate eviction proceedings.
This week I ran across a little book entitled “The Untethered Soul” which was written for people like me who are tired of the running dialog emanating from their minds. The author, Michael Singer, acknowledges most of us are locked in our heads with a maniac. (I’m not sure I’d go THAT far.)
“If you want it to be peaceful in there, you’re going to have to fix this situation,” declares Singer. “You do this by taking the entire personality that you hear talking to you…give it a body and put it out there in the world just like everybody else.”
He suggests engaging mindfully in something you really love and enjoy…that thing that makes your heart sing. For me it’s digging in the garden, rearranging the furniture in my living room or going for a walk in the woods. Before I know it, the voices are silenced and peace returns.
If all else fails, I’ll borrow a page from the playbook of my bulldog, Rebel. He can spend hours staring into space or chewing on an old shoe. I hate to admit it, but I’m pretty sure Rebel is smarter than I am. He’s got himself a pretty sweet gig – sleeping, chasing squirrels and getting treats for no particularly reason. Of course, he also has a semi-maniac for a roommate (me) – but he never complains and he’s always waiting at the back door when he hears my car drive up.