My Internal Monologue

I have one thing I do that I never really admit to anyone. My mind is constantly concocting and telling a story.

I don’t know if this is a normal thing or not.  I’ve always been kind of afraid to ask.  But at pretty much all times, I am inventing, reviewing and/or refining some sort of scene in my head.  It can be based on entirely fictional people in another universe, it can be a movie or television show or book, imagining a different direction the plot could have taken.  Sometime, I become involved, writing myself as an additional character in the script. I have scenes I have been playing in my mind for years, fine tuning what happened to lead up to the scene and what the aftermath will be for the characters.  

It’s a source of comfort and distraction for me.  If I find myself waiting in a line or other wise stuck, I can bring up the scen of the day and twist it into a better shape.  If I need a five minute break, bring to mind a scene I’m satisfied with a nod play it in my head to regroup and focus.  My internal monologue is constant, often jumping from subject matter to subject matter, depending on my mood and what find interesting that day.

Every once and a while, I must admit I will get irritated if I’m interrupted while working a scene.  Usually I just push it to the side for later, but I will admi, sometimes I would much rather just keep working the scene.  But honestly, if that happens, I most likely don’t care for the person interrupting me anyway.

And that’s what I do that I never admit to anyone.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Mystery Wrapped in an Enigma.”

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