Shut the bleep up

The voice in my head talks all of the time. He rarely shuts up. I think he talks with his hands, banging away at the inside of my skull with wild gestures for emphasis. That would account for my headaches in recent weeks. Or it could be my fall allergies,.

The guy in my skull is always playing music in the background, classic rock mostly.  Sometimes he plays songs from old movie musicals. He changes the tune often and at random, unless he discovers a song I really loathe.  Then he plays it nonstop for about 37 hours.

Man, does the guy in my head like to talk. Politics, jokes, conversations he had last week, last month, years ago, are rehashed. He plans discussions he has not even had yet. The man in my head reads aloud entire pages from books he read days, weeks, months in the past. He recites passages, facts, and dates from old dusty history tomes consumed decades ago.  He reminds me of people and places at the strangest times. He talks about bills and debts and the stuff he needs to do. It is yakity yack all of the time, morning to night.

The man in my mind talks about sex a lot. He is obsessed with boobies and soft secret girly parts. He talks about them at inappropriate times, appropriate times and often in between.  His tone when discussing nekkid is a little less strident these days, and it dominates less of his one-sided conversations of late.

He talks about football and baseball and endless tales of his youth.  He argues with me, pleads with me, and insults me.  He encourages me to make sarcastic and caustic comments. He is sometimes bitter and mean.  Occasionally he tells me to write stuff here.  Good stuff, bad stuff, weird stuff, regrettable and forgettable stuff. He curses a lot.

The voice in my head is me and he will not shut the fuck up.