The Conversations I Have with Myself

It is 8:43pm.

Basically, bedtime is right around the corner.

“Hey, I’m hungry,” it begins. It happens every night, hell, it happens every few hours some days.

“No, you’re not. We’re not hungry. We’re thirsty.”
“Ok, so go to the kitchen.”
“I don’t need to go to the kitchen, I have a flat of Bublys right here.”
“Yeah, but ice.”
“In the history of ever, when have we”
“Yeah yeah, fine, but just go into the kitchen, ok?”
“NO. You want me to go into the kitchen to be visually tempted by All the Things.”
“Nuh-uh. I want some milk.”
“You do not.”
“…A chocolate cherry smoothie has milk in it…”
“Yes, it does. I am not making one, it is bedtime right now.”
“You could put vodka in it.”
“Oh, stop it. BED. TIME.”


“I want some candy.”
“Of course you do.”
“How about some oatmeal? Apple cinnamon.”
“We just ate that for dinner.”
“We could order cake from Grubhub. Or frozen yogurt.”

“No. How about a nice salad.”
“Gross.”
“It is not.”
“Ok, how about a soda.”
“No, we are not having a soda. Too much sugar. Four out of five dentists do not recommend a Coke before bed.”
“What about a little soda?”
“No.”
“…what about a diet soda?”
“…”
“What?”
“I’m trying to think of something to argue about with that and I’m having a hard time. All I’ve got is ‘aspartame is bad for you’ and ‘so is all that acid.'”
“So let’s go into the kitchen and get one.”
“That’s it, there it is – you’re just luring me into the kitchen, and then before I know it, I’ll be making a batch of brownies or shoveling yogurt into my face by the spoonful right out of the container. NO. No, we are going to enjoy this cherry Bubly and then we are going to bed.
“You never let me do anything.”
“I let you get away with murder for 44 years, I think you had a pretty good run there.”
“… so what’s another few years, give or take?”
“NO.”