I don’t know about you,

but I’ve got this inner monologue thing going on. I can be doing just about anything and there she is; my narrator. Sometimes, I feel like my inner Carrie Bradshaw is trying to force herself out of my mind and into the world.

Maybe I wish my life were a tv show..I’d most definitely have to come up with some more exciting material, that’s for sure! My inner self contstantly asks me questions…”why are you going THIS way?”, “seriously, you’re hitting snooze, again?”, “so what the guy wants you to use a strap-on on him, he adores you and thinks you hung the moon..deal with it!”.

I can’t, I tell her, I’m not that open minded and IJ ust cannot force myself to like someone who grosses me out. Don’t I deserve someone I feel equally as much adoration for? That pretty much pisses her off. She always forgives me, I think she has to, or something.

I do listen to her, though. She’s kind of bossy, but her advice is generlaly spot on. Maybe if I trusted her more, I would be more confident in some of my decisions.

Another part of me kind of thinks that maybe I have two inner monologues (if that’s possible) and the other one is a guy. I think I count on him to tell me what I’m doing wrong and to help me realize to STOP wasting the pretty on people who are not worthy. If I had two inner monologues..would that mean I have some kind of personality disorder? Something to think about, for sure. Its’ not like I need mental illness added to my list of oh-so desirable qualities, anyway.

So, I’m 30. I feel fine about that. 30 is an aweosme age, sassy, independent and secure. Am I all those things? She tells me I can be, I just need to believe it more. He is telling me that I can’t meet anyone of substance by staying home all the damn time. Get dressed up and go out, dummy! He’s right, I’m more homebody than party animal. Do I want to meet someonein a bar? I don’t! But, he is telling me that the only way to meet people is to fucking go out and do it. Bars, coffee shops, bookstores…whatever, whereever, so long as I’m putting myself out there. He’s right, but don’t tell him…I hate how cocky men get when they’re right.

Just once, I’d like to meet someone of merit at a bar. Well, no…yeah, I guess I would. Partially to prove that it can be done and to show me that I’ve been cockblocking myself for far too long. Ugh, that would mean a total chorus of, “we tooooooold you sooooo!!!” from the goddamn peanut gallery in my mind. Maybe I’l try that some other time.

I guess my inner girl monologue isn’t necessarily like Carrie Bradshaw, more of me knowing what I’d like to say to myself. I suppose I should give her a name…how about Jillian? I kind of like that, and he is definitely a Max. Jillian and Max are certainly not finished with me yet.