I’m not crazy. Yes, there’s a voice inside my head that won’t shut up, but it’s only one voice. And only those with multiple voices inside their heads can be called crazy.
But I’m thinking about giving my voice different accents, just to mix things up a bit and make things more interesting for myself. I’ll still be saying the same old stuff, but hearing “You’re going to end up penniless and living in the streets” rattle around in my head with a French accent will make it sound way more sexy. And while I’ll go into my birthday weekend with the same fake optimism I had this same time last year, after I’m done lying to myself with, “This is my last birthday to celebrate alone! THIS is the year I’m going to find the love of my life!” I’ll be following that up with a harsh, guttural, Germanesque, “Yoo are so stoo-peed!” And in my pirate voice, “Why arrgh you bothering’ with that brazilian wax again, Matey? Nobody but you is lookin’ down there! Arrgh!”
I feel shitty and yet entertained all at the same time.
And after pre-celebrating my birthday — because my birthday simply can’t end until after my official party Friday night — I now realize that I am not the person that I used to know. So please, no more shots. That nonsense is meant for someone a whole year younger than me, clinging to and clawing at that party girl she once was. I don’t want to waste another day rummaging through medicine cabinets, praying to find the bottle of Excedrin Migraine that expired not too terribly long ago. I guess now that I’m a whole year older, I’ve become somebody that I need to get to know. I bet she’s boring.