The benefits of having a family in your head

I haven't yet been able to get into serious, up-to-the-moment blogging. So I'm cheating. Here's something I wrote about 10 years ago:


We live in an age were it is considered a characteristic of great sensitivity to admit to having an inner child and to coddle and humour that inner child shamelessly. But what about having inner children?

From time to time we hear about somebody whose traumatic experiences have caused them to split into 16 or 20 personalities. Maybe I'm weird but I have always been able to relate to this. No, that doesn't sound right. I'm normal, everybody else is weird.

Whatever the case, I've often felt like I have many different opinions vying for recognition in my head. For example, say I'm mentally debating the important topic of what to do with the million dollars that either Bill will win in the lottery or I will make writing a best-seller.

"Give it all to charity, a million dollars will ruin your life," says one voice.

"Give it to charity? You must be crazy," says another. "Spend it on a world cruise, quit working and be fat and happy for the rest of your life."

"Now, let's compromise," pipes up yet another. "Give some of it away and keep some it. For example, you should give some money to all your relatives. . . and maybe some of your friends."

"Your relatives? How much are you going to give them? Give them all the same or all different? They might start take you for granted as money-machine, you know. What's to stop them from quitting their jobs and then you'll have to support them for the rest of your life."

"That'll be bad for their character. Better not tell anybody about the million dollars. Keep it a secret."

"Yeah, stuff into your mattress and live exactly the same way you're living now and nobody will ever know the difference."

"C'mon, be reasonable, what's the point of having a million dollars, if you don't enjoy it?"
"Can you really enjoy money you haven't earned? If you haven't earned it, you have moral obligation to give it to the poor."

And so it goes, on and on until I practically have to scream to shut them all up. In fact, I've postponed writing the best-seller until I can get these unruly characters in line. (How's that for an excuse?)

If I were just a little further removed from reality, I could see how these voices might become separate personalities, all with their own names.

Now that I think of it, that might actually be kind of cozy, like having a loud, quarrelsome, extended family. They would be easier and cheaper to take care of than most extended families -- and you could keep most of your million in your mattress. You would only need a very small turkey for Thanksgiving dinner and putting clothes of their backs would be a cinch.

Hmmm, maybe I am a little weird. I blame this on the fact that I came of age during the sixties when it was fashionable to spend entire evenings listening to loud music, staring at walls and saying "Hey, far out, man," every hour or so. What can you expect from someone nurtured in that environment?