Conflicts of Interests

It’s a struggle. It’s really a struggle sometimes, not only to keep track of all of the stuttering, jammering, singing, songing, whispering voices in my head but to reconcile their differences with an eye toward living together like one big happy family.
But before you start tiptoeing backwards out of the room, or pushing your chair ever so slightly away from your monitor and looking over your shoulder in shuddering paranoia, let me just take one moment to tell you that this isn’t schizophrenia. And these struggles are not life-shattering or -threatening. They are not based on morals or ethics or any notion of Good Vs. Evil.
So get back here.
These conflicts are really quite insignificant and of little, if any, consequence, but they are the sort of thing that, when I’m lying in bed at night (or during the day, given my love of the nap), keep sleep from actively pursuing me. In fact, when I give these matters the attention they don’t deserve, sleep just kicks me in the head and tells me it’s going out to dance the night (or afternoon) away with really slutty women in shiny black thigh-high boots.
I guess the whole “problem” is that I don’t like to sit on the fence. I don’t like it because, if you really must know, the white picket posts have a tendency to dig into my ass and leave holes in all my pants in places I don’t necessarily want to expose.
Without further fanfare, and with the caveat that this list is by no means a comprehensive one, I offer the following conflicts of interests:

  • I am inherently neat, with a tendency toward sloppiness.
  • I am a latent slob, with a neatness compulsion.
  • Yes, that is indeed Sean Hayes pedalling maniacally and sweating profusely on the stationary bike at the gym.
  • No, that is not Sean Hayes, so you can stop looking over at him in the mirror and hoping he catches your eye and asks you to guest-star on Will and Grace.
  • I was born in the wrong era and am old-fashioned.
  • I was born way ahead of my time.
  • It’s OK not to make the bed if I really don’t want to, especially if no one’s going to see it.
  • It’s not OK to leave the bed in such a mess, and I can’t convince myself that I’m just “airing it out” the way I do with the clothes that are flung/slung over the back of this chair.
  • Pink lemonade is better than yellow.
  • They both taste the same.
  • Bad TV is evil.
  • Bad TV is good.
  • I can easily get by with just one pair of jeans, one pair of black pants, and four shirts: black tanktop, turtleneck, and T-shirt; white T-shirt.
  • I have nothing to wear even though you could outfit all of Chelsea (especially the boys) with the contents of my closet.

I rarely, if ever, resolve these conflicts. I’m just fortunate that my brother and I weren’t born Donny and Marie, because neither one of us is even the slightest bit country, and I wouldn’t want to have to reconsider in order to accommodate him.
I could really go for a nap right about now, but I know that it will be a hideous waste of time. Sleep’s raising its eyebrow at me and saying, “Yeah right, moron. I’m outta here.”