An Intimate Conversation With Myself

In the car, I was driving her back to my house. Or her house. We hadn't really decided where we were going after, so I guess now would be a good time to ask her. I looked at her, opened my mouth, but I remembered she already said she wanted to go out to get something to eat. I shook my head, I was always forgetting these things, but then realized I was shaking my head for (at least in her perspective) no apparent reason. I shot a glance at her again, wondering if she saw me shaking my head, but she was just looking straight ahead. Then I quickly turned my head back to the road, bashing myself in my mind (Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!) for glancing at her all the time. She must think I'm some sort of horny bi-polar freak, staring at her every five seconds. Jesus, what is my problem! She sighed, and I clenched my teeth; she thought I was crazy alright. Man, I've really dug myself in it now. Wait...what am I thinking? She is probably sighing out of boredom, we have been driving in the car for about fifteen minutes or so and I haven't even initiated a conversation. I thought about asking her something, ANYTHING, and the only thing that came to my mind is what she wanted to do after this. I opened my mouth...

But then I remembered, again, that I had already asked her that. And I was about to ask her again, after considering it three times. I AM AN IDIOT. I mean really, is it possible for an eighteen year old guy to develop a case of Alzheimer, or Dementia for that matter? Never mind the fact that I criticize every thought that comes across my mind, and part of me thinks that I'm crazy. At least a little.

Wait, would that mean that I'm schizophrenic? The whole split personality deal? I'm sure that's more likely than those old people diseases, but how would I know? Should I like, stand in front of a mirror and start talking to myself? See if I talk back to me? But then how do I know the difference between the real me and the...well...other me? Change of voice? But then how do I know that it isn't really me just saying it back? HOW DO I KNOW?

God, I'm starting to get a headache. Thinking like this probably isn't going to help my crazy problem. Okay; from now on, no more crazy talking. Okay?

Okay?

...

Wait, did I answer that?

No, no, I'm sure that I was just answering myself.

Right?

OKAY!! No more thinking like that. I gotta stop this. Alright, take a deep breath. There. From now on, no more thinking like that. I'm just going to just look ahead at the road, and get out of my head. Just, count the little dashes in the center of the road as they go by. Alright...

...one...

...two...

...three...

...four...

...five...

...six...

I wonder about the people who paint these things, I wonder what that would be like.

...seven...

...eight...

...nine...

...ten...

Do they hand paint these things, or use some sort of machine?

...eleven...

I would imagine that they could tow something behind a car.

...twelve...

But how would that work?

...thirteen...

And I wonder how much they got payed. Do you go to school to learn how to paint the little yellow (or I guess some are white) lines down the center of the road?

...fifteen...

...nineteen...

I wonder if she notices me staring at the road. I mean, I'm supposed to be looking, sure, but how hard does it actually look like I'm looking? I mean, am I giving off more of a “intently concentrating” or does it look like I'm pushing my face into the glass. Maybe I should lean back, you know, just relax. I'm sure I look tense. I feel tense.

...

...seventeen?...

Ugh, I lost count. Well there goes the whole “staying out of my head” deal. Okay, just take a deep breath and try to stop your train of thought. Derail that sucker. Okay, and breath in...

“John?” she said.

I let out my breath to answer her, but my lips were still pursed from trying to hold the air in.

Fffwweep.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no. Quick, I have to cover this up. I have to make it all okay. Say something, quick!

“Groovy.” I smiled.

WHAT THE HELL! What was that? Groovy? GROOVY? What kind of thing to say is groovy, groovy isn't a response! And let's not forget the fact that “groovy” hasn't been used in real conversation in THIRTY YEARS! And even back then, I don't think it was even credible. Like “swell” or “righteous” or something like...

“John...” she continued.

“Yeah?”

“Why are we driving through the country?”

What? We weren't...

I looked out the window and we were definitely in the country. Far from any restaurants.

Great. You take your focus off the now off the present and we are now in the country. Amidst the tree's and the hillbillies. Maybe you could just fry up some roadkill, I'm sure there are some inbred locals that could help you with that.

...am I making fun of myself?

Yes, I think I am.

So not only am I a possible schizophrenic, but my other personality is a jerk.

Great.

“John?”

Okay, now I need to get out of my head. I'm ignoring her. She is probably sitting there and...

...well she was probably just lost in her own thoughts, don't you think?

Yeah.

OKAY, I need to stop asking myself questions.

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going to eat?”

I need to get out of here, my head I mean. Maybe, maybe I should just talk to her. Stay out of my head, keep myself going with conversation.

Okay.

Let's do that.

“Well, I was thinking we could just turn around and stop at Jake's Grill, it's closest and it's probably our best bet. It's kind of cheap, I'm sorry I don't have a lot of money right now, I mean if I did then I think I would take you out to a fancy restaurant. Like, one you have to make reservations at you know? I've never really been to one of those kinds of places, I always kind of imagine that they all must have snooty French waiters and the place must be filled with nice clean well-to-do people talking about their piles of money lying in some place far away and talking about how they enjoy never even having to lift a finger and-,”

“John.”

“they must wear suits and, God, the place must REEK with their fancy cologne and-”

“John.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”