I am ensconced at the little desk in the cupboard today. The clothes hang quietly nearby reminding me of the possible magic worlds that await me at the back of the wardrobe. Though no old fur coats hang in here. Only cotton dresses, and sweaters of all kinds. I feel the back wall of the cupboard just to check and see if the portal is available. But alas, not today. It’s just a white plaster wall, unremarkable in every way. I will have to create my own fantasy world it seems. I am wearing Chloe Tuttle’s famous pink sweater with the magic pocket however, so who knows what might happen in here. Things COULD get interesting real quick.
I got to thinking of all the imaginary friends I have accumulated since I began writing in earnest these last few years. I never had imaginary friends as a child, so I guess I am making up for it now. Perhaps it is normal to gather these kinds of playmates once one has passed the age of fifty. And if not, I am declaring it normal right now!
Bing! Normal I say.
My cast of characters includes all the quirky residents of Bogwillow, including Tilly, Milly, Chloe, Thaddeus of the Pack Rat fur hats, and the as yet nameless editor of the Bogwillow Journal. There’s Dr. Rubber Duckie of quacktherapy fame. (He bids you a cordial hello by the way). The Oracle of Pupik. ( ) , the sarcastic heckler from the peanut gallery is in attendance today, but the audience mic is turned off. Guess who made sure of that ??
At any rate, all these literary devices are milling about as best they can in the limited space in here, hoping for a cameo appearance, or better yet a full blown story all about them, and no one else.
I sometimes wonder who they really are. Who is the ego? The super ego? The alter ego? The id the Yid* or the real me? It’s kind of frightening to realize the multiple personalities one takes on just to tell a little story.
And with the exception of the Oracle, my other parts have gone begging lately as Ms. Manic has had her way almost all the time, only to be replaced with an exhausted me when she has to take a break and re-group. The exhausted me isn’t in any fit shape to write much of worth, more’s the pity. Ms. Manic uses up a LOT of energy. Much like a Black Hole, I suspect.
I’d schedule a session with Dr. Rubber Duckie, except I am afraid there’s not enough room for everyone in the tub now. It’s going to be VERY crowded. Maybe we could rent a room with a really expansive jacuzzi, thus ensuring there will be room for the whole cast of characters. But dog gone it, which one is ME?
To ME or not to ME, that is the question.
Which one of us in this crowed cupboard is ME?
I think I’m the stolid one. The RESPONISIBLE overachiever. The one who has to constantly improve. The sentry. The keeper of the Home Fires. The one who mistakenly thinks that if I don’t constantly do the right thing, the world will shift on it’s axis and spin out of control into God only knows what tilted galaxy, to God only knows what awful fate.
This is clearly ridiculous.
But she’s in here in the cupboard too.
In fact, I think she’s the one who’s moving this pen around on the paper….
I think.
Good God, I just realized. She is the only one without a name.
*Yid = Jew (Yiddish)