It’s an interesting place to be, my mind, when I am trying to get it to stop talking.
“Settle,” I say. “S-E-T-T-L-E.”
It’s like an A.D.D. toddler, up in there, (and I know about them, because I had two of those cwazy critters) going in all directions at the same time, speaking four languages, none of which are audible, while performing with the Rockettes, and sounding like a cross between National Public Radio and Access Hollywood. You do not want to be in there, my brain. It’s like noisy as a carnival, and impudent, and completely disrespectful.
But stillness. It seeks stillness.
And I can sometimes achieve it. Well, sort of. I mean, I can get it to be kind of quiet-ISH.
And when I do, it’s such a relief. I practically fall right to sleep when I can get all that noise to stop. It seems like most people can tame the chatter. I feel like I am someone special (but not good, special) because I find it so hard to convince my brain to travel in the quiet car.
But perseverance. I have perseverance. I just keep trying. I just keep on keeping on. They say it won’t be so hard one day, to make my inner chatty Cathy take a vow of silence for 30 minutes of my day. I find that as unbelievable as thinking there’s anybody alive who doesn’t think Amy Schumer is a pee your pants, laugh riot. Ok, now. “Quiet on the set.”