self: I think he's trying to kill us, working us day and night like he has been.
me: I'm sore in places that I never knew I had. Is this leading to anything?
self: Somehow I doubt he might even begin to answer that question.
me: There's only so far you can dig before you end up in China...
self: Or you've dug your own grave.
me: Well aren't we morbid.
self: I just call it like I see it. Why dig a hole unless you plan on filling it with something?
me: My vote is for a pool. A nice long swim would be nice.
self: ...if that was a reference to Encino Man, I'm going to be forced to kill you.
me: You're such a nerd. Seriously, what's the deal?
self: Judging by the pattern of the holes he's been having us dig, I'd guess that he's trying to find something he buried.
me: You mean all of the junk we've already dug up isn't enough?
self: My guess is that he's already found what he's looking for, but he's hoping that he'll find something different.
me: Anything to absolve his sense of guilt for making a decision that he never agreed with in the first place.
self: That's foolish. Could have dones and should have dones have no place in life.
me: Bullshit. Just because you let a chance at happiness slip by you doesn't mean you can't look back on it and think about what you could've done better. It's all a matter of finding the balance between reflecting and dwelling.
me: He's been awfully quiet in there. Do you think we ought to check on him?
self: You can interupt him. The last time I poked my head in there, he had his ears plugged into headphones and played catatonic.
me: *chuckles* That's because you don't know how to talk to him. You're always so blunt and forceful about things. Talking to him requires some diplomacy, some subtlety. Coax him out by showing a little vulnerability of your own, then engage his need to purge. He isn't nearly as difficult as you make him out be. A little incentive to speak and he lets loose the deluge.
self: Funny, I thought provoking him to the point of upsetting him was the way to go.
me: If you want to take him to the breaking point, feel free. I think that's a lot of wasted effort personally. Besides, he doesn't think as clearly when you piss him off.
self: Whatever. He's probably just listening to that pile of old tapes we dug up anyway.
me: Rob Gordon needs to get back to the task at hand and quit digging through boxes of keepsakes. It isn't like he's hung onto most of them.
self: Keepsakes are best for sentimental reminders of the past. When your brain stores just as much of that stuff as a cardboard box would, it's safer to rely on your brain. Especially when you've got plenty of music at your disposal to send you right back. The problem with him is that his brain starts plugging things together too quickly. He hears a new song, deciphers the meaning to the best of his ability as he's listening, and by the end of the song he's started linking it to films about ghosts.
me: Now you're an expert on his brain?
self: Sometimes I understand more than I let on. Information is a precious commodity.
me: Info has an expiration date. The longer you hold on to it, the less valuable it becomes. I'd rather go to the grave pennyless and without any secrets than to die alone with all of those thoughts locked away in my brain.
self: Keep digging, you might have an opportunity to prove that point.
me: Again with the morbidity. Let's try digging over by that old tree...
I'll probably stick to the house tonight, for the first time in awhile. No plans have come up and I feel like lounging near an internet connection and somewhere that I can write. I'm open to plans, but I don't know that I'm the best of company.