I’ve decided to call my own mind. There’s a lot of different characters in there, and I think we need to talk. Sadly, I have to use my three-year-old phone with crappy reception because I’m too cheap to upgrade to one that actually works, but I guess that’s on me.
First up is Football. As the phone rings, I pace around like a lion on methadone. I’ve never been able to sit still while I’m on the phone; it seems like thinking and listening and talking with someone I can’t see causes me to fill in the gaps with movement. Sometimes my wife yells at me because I’m driving her to distraction. I hope she doesn’t Tase me one day.
Football finally picks up. I can hear the yelling of coaches in the background. How’s it going? I ask. Oh, just fine, Football responds. It’s the usual—sitting around during practice thinking of spaceships, video-game ideas, possible book topics, how many different shades of blue there are before you start entering green—anything at all, really, to keep from going violently insane after we finish the forty-five minutes of punting we’re here for.
A dull roar shakes the phone in my ear—it sounds like a plane just landed on Football’s head. What was that? Inthemiddleofagame-havetogo-thesnapiscoming-puntisoff-gottacover-herecomeshester-ohshitohshitoh—click. The phone goes dead, the call cut off. I shrug and dial the number for Reading.
Reading doesn’t pick up, usually never does. Spends all its time among stacks of books, science fiction and fantasy mainly, tuning everything out inside the hushed cathedral silence of a library. I’m never quite sure where I’m going to go with Reading, but it’s always a great trip. I swear, though, if Reading ever gets an e-reader, I’m going to lobotomize myself. You can’t beat the feel of paper on fingertips.
Next on the list is abstract. I dial the number, and my phone swallows me up and spits me out inside a psychedelic landscape of non-Euclidean geometry and fireworks. The colors taste like triangles. All of a sudden, a herd of bowling-ball llamas run past me whispering scenes from Hamlet while a thunderous bass track shimmers the air into crystal sculptures. At one point, I’m pretty sure they all look like Jessica Rabbit. Commence the sweet-tea tango. <record scratch>
Time to leave, before abstract takes me on another tangent. It’s a fun place to visit, interesting scenery, but I don’t think I’d want to live there.
At this point I realize I’m talking to Reason. Reason’s always sitting above everything else, custodiet the custodians and all that, and usually keeps abstract on a pretty tight leash. There’s a couple long-chain molecular compounds that can distract Reason for a while, but they also generally make the next morning slightly unpleasant, so they get in only occasionally. The funny thing, though, is that Reason is the only one that will let them in in the first place. Unless Reason’s satisfied that it’s okay to take a break, all guards stay on high alert.
Reason assures me that it’s still very much in control at the moment, so I hang up and go looking for the last portion of my mind I’d like to speak with. It crafts me a wonderful conversation and then brings this snapshot to a close.
Enjoy the ride.