Embracing the void...

All my days begin the same way. I wake up and grope for the remote. I switch on the TV, either music on VH1 or morning news. I ease into my day by embracing the coma of the TV for a while, maybe a half hour if I am in school, maybe several hours if I don't have anywhere in particular to be.

The moving images on the screen take the place of real people, ease my terror of alone. There are human voices to wake me, and speak to me, and sometimes I even talk back if the news is silly enough, or frightening enough. If there was a grammatical slip that begs me to be corrected.

My mother once told me that on weekends, on vacations, she might go for days without speaking. If the phone doesn't ring, if she doesn't go out, that she is surprised by the sound of her own voice on occasion. I worry about that in my own life. If I live here alone long enough will I forget how to speak? Will my throat close up, the words shrivel and die at the back of my mouth? Will I forget what conversation sounds like? So, the TV was my salvation, the colorful moving people sweeping in and out of frame and telling me stories that I probably don't need to hear, but oh well, at least I have the illusion of company.

Today, though, I decided to embrace silence for a few hours. Do some chores. Try to hear myself think. And maybe that was what I had been afraid of, too. Listening to my mind, undistracted. But there is a price for this. I am the rude girl in Perrault's fairy tale; from my mind may spring snakes and toads. They would have to be faced. Dealt with. Banished. Or maybe, embraced and reabsorbed as a part of who I am.

Toad #1. This is a little one, who hopped onto the arm of the chair as I read a new book. I spend a lot of time worrying about being liked. I always have. I try to always be helpful, cheery and good. Like a girl scout without the cookies, although I bake those too. But I am not sure why.