Dear Inner Me,
Stop it. I mean, really. Cut it out.
This whole business of sabotage must cease, immediately. The random dark thoughts, the vapor-locking under pressure… I’ve had enough. And what’s this with the dreams lately? Last night I dreamed I had only a few months to live. Oh, great, like that is going to get me off on the right foot in the morning. Thanks awfully. The last dream I remember involved being utterly alone in the world, sort of a sadly pathetic Omega Man riff or some-such. Sheesh. Can’t I have some good dreams? You know, stuff like cavorting naked women? Something with lightness, humor, or even just a harmless pastoral scene? I’ll take what I can get at this point.
Oh, and you can stop with the random emotional kneecapping at inopportune moments. Like, say, last night. If I wanted a guilt trip I’d phone up my relatives.
And say, have you considered maybe doing something about the general agitation levels around here? The stress is probably killing me, and the sooner I go the sooner you’re gone, too. Maybe I’m a starry-eyed idealist but it seems to me that if we’re both happy we’ll live longer… and the whole secret to life is not dying, right?
I’m hoping we can resolve things peacefully. You don’t want me to come in there, now do you? Hmm?
I thought not.
