Something guides me.
I don’t know if I’d call it a little voice or my soul, I can’t really be certain, but something inside of me tells me when I’m being catty or selfish, it corrects me when I judge or if I lie. My something doesn’t prevent me from doing these things, it doesn’t have that power, but it niggles at me and reminds me I could do better, be a better me.
I’m sure everyone has a something. I’ve often wondered if people that do really horrible things still have it and oh boy how their something must rage. Or maybe after a certain point, the something gives up and is silent. Maybe people that are really awful stop listening and then it leaves them with nothing to help guide them back. That would be awful.
I’m not sure I could go on without my something. It’s sort of like those bumps on the road when I’m messing with my music instead of paying attention to the fact that I’m driving a huge piece of machinery that could kill me and others. Those bumps remind me that I’m veering off and I need to stop being stupid and pay attention to where I’m going.
Yes, my something is like having mental bumps.
When I get too down on myself, or too full of myself. When I’m grumpy or nasty or just plain ridiculous, my something chimes in, bumps me about, and sets me straight. I listen to it more than anything or anyone else in my life because it’s my something, custom made for me, and it knows the most about me, about where I’m heading.
I often wonder what it is, or think about other people’s somethings, but most of the time I just try stay awake and keep between my lines.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Did You Hear That?