I put the ‘moron’ in oxymoron.
Its true, my brain is split into hundreds of pieces governing the gears of my thought process. The way I see it, there are some hundred different little mes residing in my head. Its all nice and dandy (dandy? Who uses ‘dandy’ anymore? But then I am smarter dan-dy average population) in Priyanka-braintown except the days when an issue rises in the House of the People, the Parliament which is the true ruler of the government. The Council of Foreign Stimuli presents an agenda every now and then to discuss in the regular sessions of the Parliament and chaos is sure to reign. Every single of one of those little mes share but only two similarities, the need to be heard and utter stubbornness. While The Council of Foreign Stimuli tries to conduct a civilized discussion the obsessive Planner self-proclaims its supreme rule and goes on to deliver instructions to the rest of my body. The extreme Perfectionist tags along and seconds the decisions of the Planner in the Parliament leading to instant uproar.
“How can they sneak out nerve impulses without the full consent of the House?”, demands the Free-thinker, while the perfect Hufflepuff comforts the anxious Worrier sobbing in a corner. The Perfectionist sneers and declares that it shall do what must be done following the grand scheme of plans for world domination!
Sensing the rise of another civil war of sorts, the Peacekeeper tries to call for well, peace. It asks the Wise-ish me to stand.
The mostly quiet Wise-ish me rises, strokes its long beard (Professor Dumbledore style), asks for more time to think and returns to his seat causing the Worrier to unravel itself from its misery and leap up to a desk.
“What we need is to act now or all this time will be wasted and our life will be wasted. We’ll be late for all the good things in life and we’ll miss on everything and then we’ll just [sob] die alone!”
Silence, not choas reigns for a moment after this outburst and the meeting is adjourned seeing that the house has reached one if its unsolvable questions.
Come to think of it, dying alone is the only way to go assuming you are a part of a non-fictional universal where people don’t die coupled deaths holding their lover’s hand as they breathe their last and the music swells with emotion. Now, dying a lonely soul is an entirely diffetent thing having very little to do with say, the number of progeny you have or the number of human beings in direct contact with you.
Of course, I am hardly an expert in the field and am merely speculating what dying would truly is. All I know is there is an another thing my entire brain agrees upon that is the fact that it can’t bear not having lived a full life. This perhaps is something everyone of us have, along with the fear of dying an old man filled with regret(*wink)
Our fears are what make us up and keep us going. And that, is what all this is really about.
Over ‘n out!
Ps- This post ended up sounding much more morbid than intended. Much apologies!