Sometimes a Manic Hobgoblin gets the better of me. I live in a sweet, old house in central Austin. I travel a few times each year. I have too many pets, and love each one more than the next.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Vacationing In Your Mind
There are days when I don't feel like talking. I don't feel like dealing with whatever is on my mind or whatever is in my face demanding attention. I feel like escaping into a book's plot, a brain-candy television show or dreamless sleep. On these days, I keep a low profile. I don't answer the phone, whose ringing is an assault on my ears and psyche. I won't appear on iChat. I don't respond to emails. I don't answer the door. I need the distracted solitude.
Sometimes I accuse Chad of camping up in his Chad head, meaning that he withdraws into himself. Pot, kettle. I vacationed in my own head for quite a while over an eighteen-month period. I needed to deal with things that I would rather not. One might say that I was not myself. I would argue that I was myself, but I didn't have the emotional energy to spare on projecting a sparkly persona.
I think it's okay to cuddle into that cozy couch in the living room of your mind sometimes. It's okay to be quiet and still, boring to be around, if it means you can keep your mental well-being intact. You have to force yourself to surface once in a while, to peek out the curtains onto all the good stuff out there, outside of yourself. Or throw open the front door and defiantly yell, "next?" to the world when you're ready.
Don't send out the change of address cards. Don't hole away permanently like a hermit. Vacation up there in your own head like an invaluable time-share property.