Ever wonder how something just manages to be in the cosmic Whatever-The-Heck-It-Is when it shows up in your life . . . “coincidentally?”
I don’t believe in coincidence. The problem, though, I don’t know exactly what to call this "visitor." Follow me on this. Maybe you can tell me what's going on.
Recently I went to the drugstore for a few needed items. As I walked the aisles, that voice that lives in my head started talking to me. He/she (I've never really figured that part out) told me to buy a headband. I briefly argued with it, continuing on down the aisle that housed the items I really wanted.
I had a headband, fercryingoutloud, I was wearing it, and it was in great condition. It wasn’t expensive, one of those brown plastic thingies, but it served my purposes well. My hair is just long enough that if I let it hang loose during day-to-day activity, it gets in my face. It's aggravating. I don’t like to have to constantly push it out of the way, so I wear headbands.
Now, the truth is, I’ve recently moved and of everything I had before I left my old house, the one set of items I can no longer find is a make-up bag full of headbands. They’ve simply disappeared. So the idea of buying more wasn’t totally out of the realm of logic.
Still, it was a thought that . . . POOF! . . . was just there. All of a sudden. No warning ahead of time. Nothing reminded me of headbands. The voice started talking to me without preamble. Actually, nagging me is more like it.
“Buy headbands. They’re sold here. Buy them. The one you have is going to break.”
It briefly crossed my mind that the voice in my head needed a life, so I didn’t bother to argue with it. Instead, I bluntly ignored it. I wasn’t in the mood to do any real shopping. I was going in, getting what I needed, and getting out.
But it wasn’t to be that easy. “Buy headbands. They’re sold here. Buy them. What you have is going to bre - eaak.” Now the darned voice was getting sing-songy. Impertinent.
After all, it was MY head it lived in. The nerve!
Okay, already. I gave in with a dramatic sigh. If anyone was around me, I'm sure they thought I was nutz. I didn't notice, though. I was too busy arguing with the intruder in my head.
I trudged over to the hair doo-dads section and searched for the plastic brown and black headbands, but found none. All I could locate were some that were fabric-covered, in bright colors. Not exactly what I would normally wear but since the voice was still going at me -- like a kid that wouldn't give up -- I took them to the register and shelled out the chump change.
The next morning, a Saturday, I leisurely awoke, took my shower, and did the towel-dry thing. After I dressed, I brushed my shoulder-length locks, nonchalantly adding my trusty brown plastic headband and -- how else? -- artfully arranging my very straight hair around it.
And the dad-gummed headband BROKE.
Tell me, please, how does this happen? I don’t want to know how the headband broke. That I figured out. No, I want the important answers to the following burning questions:
1). Who/what is the voice living in my head? Should I be charging rent?
2). How does he/she get there?
3). How does he/she know everything – before it even happens? Can I consider it a psychic and become its agent?
4). How did he/she learn how to nag so well? I know, guys, you'll say this proves it's a woman.
5). Why don’t I listen more often?
6). And WHY is he/she always right?! Yes, ladies, this truly proves it's a woman, doesn't it?!!
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