My very own rest home inside the brain
Four unidentified marching girls have their boots whitened by an unidentified man, 1956. National Library Archives.
In which the jabbering residents of my interior rest home duke it out.
I’ve got my very own rest home inside my skull, with at least five residents. When I try to Think with a capital T about how to prepare for growing old, their voices drown me out. Jabber jabber jabber!
Depressa: It’s just luck. You can’t do anything about it.
Smugilla: You don’t need to do a thing—you’re perfect!
Depressa: You’re gonna die anyway so what’s the point?
Innocent Bystander: She doesn’t look that old.
Where is the wise part of me? Does she even exist? Oh there you are, Menerva—speak up, why don’t you?
Smugilla: You are so hot you could give advice to everyone else on how to stay young forever. Write a How To book! You’ll be famous! You’ll make millions! You’ll be on Oprah!
Innocent Bystander: You’re only as young as you feel.
Menerva: I don’t think she’s trying to solve a problem exactly.
Innocent Bystander: Just run along to the plastic surgeon. Or try homeopathy.
Hey, there’s a guy in there! Great, a fixer-upper.
Sergeant Major: Quit that squabbling. What’s the problem?
Menerva: She doesn’t know what to think.
Sergeant Major: Too much thinking does you no good. Time for action.
Smugilla: She doesn’t need any help from you, that’s for sure! She’s an expert grower-older.
Depressa: Yeah, right!
Menerva: She does need help. We all do.
And that’s when the Sergeant Major proposed a boot camp. One goal per month for the year, and then I’m done. Done like a dinner. No longer undone.
I laughed tears after reading this. Fancy us having the same residents living in our rest home heads! Hang on! Here’s a thought. Maybe we ALL have them (residents, not thoughts; they’re much rarer).
I wouldn’t be at all surprised. And perhaps they are all useful, at the very least to boost our empathy for others in the same boat, I mean rest home.
This made me smile. But I’m afraid my inner sergeant major usually gets a good inner-kicking from me when he/she goes into action.
Guess my ballet slippers don’t cut the mustard.