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Writer's pictureJamie Blaise

My Secret

I've never told anyone this. I'm not even sure why I'm coming out in this way. So public... But I feel I need to get it out in the open. Am I just getting it off my chest? Am I reaching for help? Am I looking for forgiveness? Acceptance? Someone to tell me it's ok? That it's not so strange? I don't really know what I'll get out of this, but I have to come clean.


I hear a voice.


No, the TV isn't on. Well, actually, it is. But it's not Judge Joody's voice that I'm talking about.


Don't worry. It's not the kind of voice that tells me to kill the neighbor's dog or anything. Well, at least, it hasn't so far. It doesn't give me winning lottery numbers or predict the World Series. And it has yet to proclaim the apocalypse.


It does tell me jokes sometimes, though. I'm often the butt of those jokes, but it's usually pretty clever and witty, so I forgive it.


It once told me to run hurriedly across the road, crouch in the ditch, and wait for a squirrel to come and give me further instructions. With reluctance, I defiantly walked across the road (don't tell me to run, I don't run), crouched in the ditch, and waited. I saw a bird flit from a nearby bush to a branch directly above my head. I watched a cat slowly advance on a chipmunk, who was having none of it and darted up another tree with a chittering curse. I watched cars drive by cautiously, heads swiveling as they passed. I watched my neighbor bring his garbage cans out to the end of his driveway. He glanced in my direction, paused, raised an eyebrow, considered asking the obvious question, but thought better of it and went back inside to enjoy a normal, not weird, entirely unexceptional and acceptably orthodox remainder to his day. I completely failed to encounter a single squirrel, talking or not. After an hour or two I gave up, returned home, and took a nap.


The voice has a rather odd sense of humor.


The voice has a name. I know because it told me that it does. But it did not tell me what it was. It said it would tell me when I was ready (whatever that means). I said that was a bit overdramatic, don't you think? It told me to go fly a kite. I said I don't have a kite. It told me to go to Mal-Wart, find the seasonal toy aisle, pick out a nice kite (don't go cheap now, get one with a nice tail on it), drive to the park, open the package, carefully assemble it, then kindly go f*ck myself.


It can be very rude sometimes.


Occasionally the voice speaks, but it doesn't seem to be addressing me. I suspect the voice hears voices of its own. Perhaps it is going mad. That probably doesn't bode well for me. Fortunately, my therapist has an opening for a new client. I wonder if she'll talk to my voice. Though, now that I think about it, that might not be proper, considering I am already a client. I'm not sure of the ethics in this case. Doesn't hurt to ask, I suppose.


The voice seems to think I'm important somehow. Like I'm supposed to serve some greater purpose. That would be nice. Not that I don't appreciate my lot in life as an unknown blogger working my fingers to the bone in a factory that smells of burnt tires... Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to sound ungrateful. Being meaningless has its perks. Nobody ever asks me to save the world, for instance. That sounds like a lot of pressure. But something just a bit more would be ok with me. I could use a little excitement.


Whatever the voice is referring to doesn't seem to be too pressing at the moment, though. Other than waiting for that squirrel, I haven't received a whole lot of instructions. I guess the squirrel was supposed to give me some. Well... I can't wait all day. I've got blogs to write.

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