THOUGHT PAPARAZZI

So I'm lying in bed, it's 4:13 in the morning and I stir~not much, just a wee bit~but enough to alert the stupid-'A' thought paparazzi. They're like celebrity seeking paparazzi, but they're only after my peace and tranquility...plus they're teeny tiny and dwell in my brain...and smell like farts. I don't know how I know that...I just do.

Those worry screamers stay up all night, most every night, wired on 44oz Red Bull and an IV mainlining corn syrup, just sitting on the sidewalk of my brain, waiting...until they sense consciousness. And then my head explodes with flashing lights and shrieking anxieties as they run chasing me down the street of my mind. I trip and skid across the concrete gray matter, and they're on top of me~yelling and freaking me out~

"Hey! Hey! You haven't been to the dentist in almost a year!" (cameras click and lights flash...)

"Lisa! Your daughter has been off track for nearly a month and she hasn't picked up a book ONCE! Her teacher is going to be so mad at you!" (I hold up a hand to stave off the glaring lights...)

"Yeah, and your daughter is going to be DUMB!" (I look down, embarrassed...)

"Yeah. Plus, she'll have teeth rotting out of her head, because you didn't take HER...or HER BROTHERS to the dentist, either!" (I squint against the flashing and start to tremble...)

"Have you heard your cat in a while? She probably snuck out last night and got in another fight. Bet she's hacking up fur-balls and bleeding in a back alley where the other bully cats left her for dead!" (I nod and look at my shredded hands...)

"Have you forgotten anything important lately? Like some REALLY, REALLY CRUCIAL promise to someone and THEN YOU FORGOT ABOUT IT?! Think! Think long and hard...it's probable, isn't it?" (I struggle to stand, noticing bloody, skinned knees and a tooth that was knocked out in the melee...)

I pick up the tooth and shove it back in place. They continue snapping pictures and screaming worries, making sure they catch me at my most vulnerable.

There. That ought to do it.

They check their cameras, make sure they got the "money" shot and pack things up for the night. Now they'll go home, regroup and come back later, ready to camp out on the brain sidewalk once again. Red Bulls and corn syrup at the ready.

And I'll lay awake for another hour or two, stewing. Simmering. Like a crock pot.

Crap. I haven't thought of anything for supper. My forehead creases. My hands wring and another hour passes.

Changed my mind. I don't want to be famous anymore.