I sometimes wonder just how many people have an inner voice that talks to them. All of us? I have one, and I hope I’m not alone. In my younger years, the voice was very feeble and timid. When I became upset with a situation, the voice would whisper, “umm, Joe? Hey, uhh, maybe we should calm down for a second?” Of course, this was akin to spitting into a volcano to lower the temperature of the lava.

Older (sigh) and wiser (ha!) now, I embrace the inner voice. He guides me though some difficult situations and keeps a sense of levelness about. It helps that the inner voice knows how to talk to me and make me listen. When I find anger trying to take hold and tunnel vision setting in, he kicks me off the road that I’m cruising along. “Joe! Dude, you need to chill the f*** out, like right now!”

I guess it’s like any long-term relationship. Eventually you just get tired of the other person’s shit and tell them whatever’s on your mind. Inner voice gets tired of my shit a lot.

I’ve been telling myself, every single day, that I really need to write some blogs. And it wasn’t just a need; I want to write some blogs. But it seemed (seems) that there just weren’t (aren’t) any words. Sure, I have a lot of things that I want to write about, but when I put my fingers on the keyboard, they just sit there.

And I’m pretty sure I know why.

I do most of my writing when I’m feeling depressed. Even when I’m writing about fond memories or something funny that happened, I’m usually at least mildly depressed about life. Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for my desire to blog, I’ve been feeling pretty darned good lately. I’ve undertaken a really intense workout program called P90x, which I believe to be the culprit. I certainly don’t know the science behind it, but what I do know is I have some sort of chemical imbalance that results in me going through phases of strong depression. What else I know is that, since I’ve started working out consistently, I’ve felt better than I have in years.

I’m not saying that I’ve been unhappy at home or with Sarah or Tyler or work. I’m not saying that at all, so I hope my general message doesn’t get misconstrued. I’m just saying… well, that’s the problem: I don’t know how to say it. Depression’s a bitch like that.

Well, ol’ inner voice over there (I nod my head slightly to the right) got tired of hearing me lament on my lack of blogging. As I read the latest news on whichever news site I was perusing this very morning, I found myself pausing for a moment to think that I really needed to —

Oh you big baby! Write then! Write something, anything! Just quit complaining.

Like so many other times, inner voice is right. I’m not a world renowned novelist with a case of writer’s block just three books into his seven book contract. I’m some guy, in some small town, that loves sharing his life with all of you.  So, here I am, writing something, anything.

Crap! I intended to write about Tyler’s two missing fingers, but this post went left when it should have gone right. I sometimes feel like a need a GPS for life. Anyway, that will be my next post, I promise. Unless I don’t complete it before Wordless Wednesday. Coming soon: The Case of the Missing Fingers.