I was walking into my complex and overheard a conversation inside my downstairs neighbor’s condo. Not strange, except she lives alone. I paused in my curiosity. Yes, I’m nosy. “You don’t appreciate anything I do for you.” I imagined her little dogs lined up on the couch being lectured. It’s like she was playing school, but she wasn’t a child. Medication needed?
One of my young guy neighbors was trying to hide his motorcycle inside since management was trying to impound it. He didn’t like parking it out front with the cars and as he stated it, “they are on my ass.” So up the stairs, he struggled and shoved until it was inside the condo. I wonder how his girlfriend felt about the chunk of metal in the living room?
We have an older gentleman, one of the few condo owners who live here, besides me, who is working to clean the grounds. He is a well-dressed fellow, dress shirt, suspenders, and slacks. I’ll see him sometimes in the morning getting into his Mustang GT. I’ve never asked where he goes. Is he still working at his age? I’m not sure even how old he is. In the evenings and weekends, he’s picking up leaves and trash.
Neighbors remind me of the story Stone soup. At first glance my neighbors are annoying and I don’t know why I stay at this place. But I’m the stone, the rock in the middle of all this pot of water. They bring the flavor. The painter, a dog trainer, a nurse, and many more good people live here. If I get to know people their lives become more than static, more than the ugly boom, boom bass that disturbs me. Neighbors are people living their life. I have to re-frame it sometimes, understand the annoyance and let it go.
I sometimes don’t know what to write about. I’ve made a goal for myself. I must get in my 1000 words a day. I feel as if I haven’t completed my task if not. And that makes me unhappy. I like meeting my goal. Of course that same side is the perfectionist and she feels untidy and lazy if I just write nonsense as I am now. The other side? Let loose the horses. Let the wild woman free. The one who splashes in mud puddles and chews her nails. What to do?
The two sides
I name myself the two-sided twin. Maybe I will come up with a more nonsensical name, but for now, it’s two-sided. I can see this becoming a good chapter of a book. I could explore the two sides of my personality. The tidy perfectionist who can’t stand wasting the bread crust. Then the crazy bitch that just needs turned loose. Let her out of the freakin’ cage already. She’s shaking the bars and the other inmates are screaming at her. She extends her long claws to snagging the guard’s arm. Of course the other one, the prim one, is sitting on her neatly tidy bed in the corner. If she’s quiet enough maybe no one will associate her with this she-monster.
Dichotomy – division into two mutually exclusive, opposed, or contradictory groups: a dichotomy between thought and action.
Now that image is probably taking it a bit far, but I feel the dichotomy of my personality or should I say personalities? I’m standing in line, the long line at the grocery store. I’m trying to decide if I want a candy bar or a pack of gum. There they are, the crazy bitch and her proper escort. I think the bitch has duct taped Ms. prim’s hands. It keeps prim from dragging her away from all the ice cream and candy. Prim’s filled her basket with pasta and vegetables. She has her list neatly printed and has marked off the items in order. She’s the picture of calm and orderly as she rips the duct tape with her teeth, peeling it from her wrists. Her eyes never leave her monster of a sister. She’s not afraid. She knows Crazy too well. Later Prim will clean up the mess while the crazy one passes out from exhaustion.
Prim never gives up.
Quite honestly I love them both. The sparkle and the shine of the bitch makes me smile. She is pure joy to shop with. She loves life and can work a room like nobody’s business. I laugh at her quirky view of life. Her bubbly laughter. You may think Crazy’s my favorite. Some days she is. It’s only when I get the credit card bill and the bank overdraft that I ask Prim for help. She’s good to help. Sometimes you can see her frustration. All her long hours and careful budgeting, shot! What’s a girl to do? She catalogs and notes the accounts, checking for ways to get back any lost ground. Well she’ll just take the loss this month. Prim never gives up.
I have to free fall
Is this any way to live? Is there another way? Can the Critic and the Creative ever cohabit? I really don’t know. When I write, I’m in complete creative mode. No holds barred. I have to free fall to express in all the full color lively verbiage. when all is fully expressed, the critic may enter, but only then. If he comes out early, the Creative will shut down and shut up. And beware of having those two out at the same time. There isn’t a fight. The Critic is too scary. He has no remorse. He will open up a vein on the creative and leave no blood. To the critic, the creative can’t be trusted.
Can’t we all just get along?
I’m sure that we each have our own version of the two. Who are your people? Or are they people? Monsters maybe. Wild things. What seems abhorrent one day seems perfectly reasonable the next, depending on which personality is in charge. Tell me, please, how you deal with a dual personality? I know I’m not the only one with these issues. I will admit to having a few, but I’m certainly not the only one.
Can’t we all just get along? Is it possible? Is that even what I would want, for my two sides to come together in happy harmony? Truthfully, I don’t think that’s what I want. I like both sides as they are, with all their duct tape and personality differences. There is balance in the differences. I certainly wouldn’t want the personalities to converge into one happy medium.
What do you think? Would you meld your various personalities together? Would you prefer them more mellow? Or do you appreciate their separateness? Truly I don’t have a multiple personality disorder. No blackouts or loss of memory. but I do find it funny to think of the two sides as being opposing singular beings. They, in their slices, make me whole. With each perspective I can do the entirety of living.
I am the dichotomy
I’m the one with the duct tape, the one with the claws, the one with the excel spreadsheets, and the one with the grocery list. I am the dichotomy and so are you. We are the frivolous and the detailed. Live it.
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