Tuesday, April 15, 2014

The Camper In My Head

I look at him, from a distance, making sure he doesn't see me. He's wearing a checked cowboy shirt and an old pair of farmer jeans even though I'm quite certain he's neither. Because he, as of two sentences ago, is just the camper in my head. He's the one who put up a tent right in the centre of my unhinged nervous system, the one who has been starting fires then putting them off. He's the one who has been humming what used to be my favourite song; used to be, because he hummed it so much it's now no longer relevant. Be careful what you wish for. Chances are you might just get it all. But you don't. Not really. Not with a camper lurking inside your head.

There's a camper in my head, painting over my walls with a different shade of white, unaware of the fact that white is not a colour, at least not to me. And he knows this, because he's inside my head. He knows, I'm sure he does. He knows that the kaleidoscope of colours with which my walls are painted cannot be painted over, especially not with white. But he's still painting, and he's still humming, and he's still starting up fires and putting them off.

So I dive in, to stop him and fail, simultaneously satisfying my curiosity as to what it's like inside my head. And it's not very different. Because the words we didn't say, and the punch lines we didn't use, they're very much alike, inside and outside. They're the same. Like two damaged pearls growing inside two perfectly sculpted oysters. Like two cumulus clouds in the darkness of the night. They're the same. Like our first and third time. And while there's nothing wrong with consistency, sometimes you just have to let your hair down, or, in your case, the extra large tent you inadvertently put up inside the deserted corridors of my head.

You can't always see him, but there's a camper in my head, screwing around with what used to be a perceptively polished organ. There's a camper in my head, swimming in my Lake of Grey Matter with nothing but his sexy straw hat on. There's a camper in my head, living rent free, obviously oblivious to the eviction notice I recently put outside his kaleidoscopic tent.