LV: so I hear you’re still thinking of joining roller derby.
Me: Not thinking about it anymore…
LV: Good. It’s not really for you, is it?
Me: Let me finish. I’m not thinking about it anymore because I’m doing it.
LV: Oh. Do you think that’s wise?
Me: What do you mean?
LV: Well, let’s face it, there are a number of factors which a sensible person would take into account.
ME: Oh? Do tell…what factors are you referring to (ignoring the “sensible person” jibe)
LV: Oh come on, don’t be any more dim than you need to be.
Me: No seriously, I’d like to know what factors I should have “taken into account”.
LV: Well, let’s face it, you are so far beyond being a spring chicken, you can’t even see spring in the rear view mirror any more. You’re a month and a half away from being 50; surely it’s time to start acting your age?
Me: No. Not yet, anyway.
LV: Well, you need to address it soon. You’re going to start looking ridiculous, if you’re not already. Another point is your fitness level; I’ve seen pudding with more muscle tone than you have.
Me: But I’ve…
LV: … been working out, yeah yeah, I heard. Do you really think that a month of treadmill and swimming is enough to counteract a decade of sloth? Really? And since when have you EVER stuck to anything that involved exercise? And no, you can’t count sex.
Me: But ….
LV: But nothing. You’re fat and lazy. Oh, and have you forgotten the year spent recovering from the broken knee? That you broke by walking? WALKING! Such a spaz. I can only imagine the injuries you’re going to sustain roller skating with women 20 years younger and infinitely fitter than you. You know can’t afford to be off work or to pay for physio. Knowing you, you’ll injure yourself in the first Fresh Meat session, and then where will you be? I’ll tell you, unable to go to Australia like you’ve planned for the last 18 months, that’s where. Yeah, yeah, I know you’re thinking that joining the refs will minimize the injury factor, but really, what are you doing even thinking of derby at your age? When are you going to realize that you can’t do what you want at your age, that you need to be careful and …
Me: Fuck careful.
Me: I said FUCK CAREFUL! And FUCK YOU!
LV: What? Me? What did I do?
Me: What did you do? You do what you always do!
LV: Do what?
ME: Undermine me. Every. Single. Day. You’re not a good teacher. You’re not a good person. You’re stupid. You’re unimaginative. You’re a mediocre writer at best. You’re too old, too fat, too boring, too this, too that, too the other thing. Who do you think you are? You are not all that. You’re not good enough. It just never ends. And it never will, will it? Well, I am finally done with your negative shit. I have wasted too much of my life listening to you. When I listen to you, I begin to care what people think, even people I don’t much like. When I listen to you, I play it safe. When I listen to you, I am unhappy. And I think it’s time to lessen your influence in my life.
And with that, I started humming A Little Less Conversation by Elvis Presley, effectively drowning out that Little Voice in the back of my head as I opened the door to Cardinal Skate Shop where I proceeded to drop a largish amount on roller skates, helmet and pads.
So, fuck you, Little Voice. Life is too short.