It’s true. I have a VIMH (Voice In My Head). Sometimes it gives advice. Sometimes it sings songs. Usually it finishes people’s sentences with words they hadn’t intended and makes me laugh, and every once in a while it yells at me and tells me how stupid I am. It’s like the best friend I don’t have in real life. I guess…my imaginary friend? (How old am I?) I don’t know, but she’s always been there and even when I want my head to myself I can’t seem to evict her. And, before you ask, yes, sometimes we talk.
Me: I’m worried about that interview. I haven’t heard back from the writer yet.
VIMH: She’ll let you know when it’ll be out. She said she would.
Me: I’ve already told everyone I did it and now they’re waiting to read it. This is NOT good.
Me: It’s a NATIONAL magazine. I’m afraid people will read it and think I’m a loudmouth know-it-all.
VIMH: Why would they think that?
Me: Because that’s what happens when I know something!
(VIMH slaps her forehead)
Me: Only this time it won’t be just the people around me criticizing me, it’ll be THE WHOLE COUNTRY. Oh God! (my hands fly to my mouth) I told them about the time the girls crawled out of their window! I was mortified at the time (they certainly hadn’t seen ME do that) and now everyone will just think I was a bad mommy!
VIMH: Ooh. Yeah. That’s not good.
Me: I thought you were supposed to cheer me up?
VIMH: I guess today is the day I get to stand back and wonder what the hell is wrong with you.
Me (Putting new garbage bags in the garbage cans): These are a little big.
VIMH: Why did you get TALL kitchen bags? These cans are not tall.
Me: Well they didn’t have SHORT SQUATTY bags.
VIMH: WHAT IS THAT???
Me: Um…three bean salad?
VIMH: OMG! I may never eat again!
Me: I did what it said. Good God, THE SMELL! (covering nose and squinting)
VIMH: Oh! That’s BAD.
Me: I will never make this again. My eyes are watering, my sinuses are burned, I’m coughing and the smell is not going anywhere. Why won’t it go outside? I opened the window!
VIMH: Apparently it’s just blowing the smell through the house instead.
Me: Oh my poor baby! (waving arms, trying to push the smell outside)
VIMH: You’re an idiot.