The Voices are Telling Me to Buy Toys

What does a ghost wear when it's snowing?

Boooooooooooooooooooots!



Here's the thing, sometimes... I hear voices. These aren't psychotic, "Oh no, Kyle's got schizophrenia!" voices. These voices are more like Jiminy Cricket voices. I've got the obvious mom and dad voices that tell me when I'm about to do something that isn't too smart (Thanks btw. I'm pretty sure I'm alive and able to function like a mostly normal human because of those). Those are pretty useful, but the voices that pop up the most lately appear to be coming from a younger version of me. It's like 8 year old Kyle and 21 year old Kyle (I call them Kyle-8 and Kyle-21 for short) are constantly looking over my shoulder and providing a running commentary on my life.

In a lot of ways, those voices are pretty proud of me. Kyle-8 is super psyched that I earned a black belt a couple years ago. He's just waiting for me to totally wail on the masked villain who's waiting to pop out from every bush and alley*. Kyle-21 is pretty excited with my little home brewery and my smokin' hot wife. Those are two of the major things he wanted to accomplish with his college education.

I fear, however, that every now and again, I am a disappointment for Kyles 8 and 21. In Kyle-8's imaginary mind, I don't spend nearly enough time with my X-box. By his way of thinking, I go to work everyday because someone needs to pay for food and video games, and while he sees me eat EVERY day, I'll sometimes go weeks without picking up a video game controller. Kyle-21 certainly agrees that I could be spending more time kicking virtual butt, though his concerns rest in other areas. Mainly time spent in bed. I thought I'd have a homunculus hari kari on my hands the other night when I crept into bed at 9:15 (that's pm). He still isn't talking to me for the two weeks I had to get up at 5am to start my morning at a particularly distant and early rising campus.

When I was younger, people told me things would change when I grew up. I fought that hard. Real hard. But here I am. I eat vegetables without complaining. I read books that don't have space ships OR wizards. I have dinner parties and think more about the quality of the beverage I am imbibing than I do about the quantity. I am, for better or worse, an adult**. And that's... OK. In fact, I think it's great. I spend more time working and less time playing than I envisioned when I was 8 and 21, but that's the way the world works sometimes. And because I work a little more, I have the opportunity to spoil my 8 and 21 year old selves a bit from time to time. I believe I mentioned the martial arts training, home brew, and smokin' hot wife. What I hadn't mentioned yet was my remote control helicopter, comic book collection, Great Dane puppy, or turkey deep fryer.

Some voices, like Mom's, you should listen to, and trust that they're probably right. Some voices, and I think you know who they are by now, you have to tell to be a little bit patient. They can play when we get home.


* So far, he's been pretty impressed with the way I sprung into action that time those butterflies came at me in San Antonio.
**Please read "adult" as Maynard G. Krebs would read "work".