That relatively modest sized globe rotating upon my shoulders is the planet I have resided on my entire life. To a larger extent it’s Earth, but for any practical purpose the machinery that dominates my thoughts, emotions, antics and general aspirations all occurs in my head.
Really, it should have its own address.
Perhaps I can blame the problem of ‘living in my head’ on my station as an only-child but that’s likely only part of the cause since I’m sure there are plenty of well-adjusted, well-socialized only-children thriving in the world. That’s just a guess and maybe we’re all, to a degree, whack-jobs.
An extreme example of living in your head might be Sybil, the literary sufferer of dissociative identity disorder, better known as multiple personality disorder. But even Sybil caught a break because she always had somebody to talk to.
No, mine isn’t the pathological kind, just the annoying ‘social/relationship time-out’ kind where not only do I retreat into my head but my head does a 360 and goes right up my ass. This doesn’t make me dangerous, just annoying and people wonder where I went even though I appear to still be sitting in one place. It’s almost psychological sleight of hand.
If there were money in that I’d have another career.
My head space is fairly well-appointed with its own roll-away cot that is always handy for a relaxing nap or simply lounging. The décor is basic contemporary muddle with moments of razor sharp lucidity. I try to keep well organized but things get away from me at times and I have to waste time just picking up. That’s time consuming and inefficient but I just slap it down on the list of ‘things to do better’ and that’s become quite a daunting list.
I’ll have to do better at making less daunting lists.
In the last few years I built on an addition, a room of cynicism and agitation that I believe many middle aged people build out of sheer necessity. Actually, it wasn’t an addition per se; I just sort of converted my sun room into something more useful.
While I’ve always found it a restful little bungle-low, my wife’s not real impressed with my head space and lets me know often that my digs are not HGTV worthy and I’d be better off spending less time there and more time visiting the tangible world that she lives in. I have every reason to believe she’s right and I’ve been going to my head space less often but, damn, I just can’t bring myself to stop paying rent there just yet.
