Wow...Maron must have really been hitting the WTF Roast
before going on Craig Ferguson last night:
It's surprising to hear a man talk about the nonstop dialogue in one's head. I always tell Mr. Brilliant that if he's ever away and puts listening devices in the house, he'll think I had someone move in while he's away, because I carry on entire conversations with myself. I don't even direct them at the cats. When I need to rant, the walls are as good an audience as anyone.
My brain is always talking. Always. I dream in color, with large casts of characters, sometimes in exotic locales, and there's always talking. If I wake up in the middle of the night, it's a challenge to get to the bathroom and back without thinking "Now what do I have to do today? You know, this room really needs painting. Do you think I can get around to those closet organizers this weekend? Shit -- I forgot to call the exterminator again. When is that meeting? God, [annoying person] is a pain in the ass. I wonder if I'll get out of work on time today. I'd really like to blog about what Rachel said last night. Is the car due for an oil change? Jim DeMint is a fucking idiot." Because once this kicks in, it's all over. Wanda Sykes did a bit on this once, and unfortunately I can't find it on YouTube. Every woman I've asked says the same thing -- that the mind is always going. I can be in Savasana, and I'll be making shopping lists. It just never stops.
I once read someplace that when a woman asks a man "What are you thinking" and he replies "Nothing", he's telling the truth. I asked Mr. Brilliant about this and he concurred that yes, sometimes he just doesn't think about anything. I simply cannot fathom how this can happen. So when Marc Maron talks about his inner dialogue looking at someone's new ice cream maker on the subway, I know exactly what he's talking about. Except mine will continue at around 2:30 AM. There might even be recipes.
Labels: Marc Maron, personal musings