My Inner Monologue-Fueled Diversion

I don't know about you, but sometimes I have a running inner monologue/narrative.

Now, if it were an inner dialogue, that would be considered multiple-personality disorder. Or, if it were a voice telling me what to do, that would be schizophrenia. Those would make me certifiably crazy. I have neither of these.

This inner monologue keeps me entertained at times, and was especially invaluable during work today. It's Friday, I hadn't slept well, and I remembered as I arrived that I had training. I'm not a big fan of training. I knew the combination of sleep deprivation and complete apathy to the training subject material was a recipe for disaster (ie me drooling on myself during class), so I decided to brand classmates that resembled celebrities/characters/stereotypes as soon as possible to keep myself awake. My running narrative from 8:30-11:30am went something like this:

Here we go. Unless they bring in some Chinese acrobats or something, they are not going to keep my attention today. I'm feeling surly this morning.

Oh you gotta be kidding me, brah.* Here comes the guy that is five inches taller and weighs fifty more pounds than me who managed to squeeze into a polo that would be tight on me. I wonder if he just cuts himself out of it when he goes home... Wait, does he have his...?-- Yup! His requisite sports drink of choice: Gatorade Propel. Nicely done on living up to the stereotype. Just please don't say anything about having already gone to the gym this morning, or I will end you. I think I'll name him Under Armour.

Dude,* instructor, please please please pump some life into this presentation and DON'T read your PowerPoint presentation verbatim, honestly. And there you go. WORD for freakin WORD. I dub thee Christopher Walken for inability to present anything without having something to read off of. Ridiculous.

Like I said: Surly today.

Now we've got Micro Machines Guy (MM) over there making comments every few seconds. Dude,* just pop some muscle-relaxers and just let your mind catch up to your mouth. Or vice versa. Whatever it is, something is out of sync. Just chill, brah.* Chilllll.

Whatever happened to the Micro Machines guy? He could have been utilized in so any ways. I hope VH1 does a special on him.

Under Armour has managed to continuously maneuver and put himself in positions that show off the size of his arms. Yes, dude,* we get it: Your arms are relatively large in your tiny shirt. My goodness. Why don't you three just get a room and get it over with.

Here we go. It's about time you surfaced; every training class has one, and you are our Point Dexter. We do a simple exercise to make sure we have a concept down, and you get it wrong, and argue incessantly with Walken, who has given this presentation how many times and still reads every word of every line... Is this a self-esteem issue, Point? I mean is it outside your realm of possibility that you're wrong? Because if your self-esteem is tied to your getting this answer right, let me finish you off: You're WRONG.

It's actually quite amusing to watch MM now; like watching a Nascar (mouth) race a Geo Metro (mind) in a city with lots of traffic lights-- the Metro almost catches up because of the red lights, but the Nascar always gets away.

I have to pee bad. I hate drinking lots of water to try and be healthy.

Point Dexter has remained in silence, nursing his linked-to-always-being-right ego, chastened by my scathing inner monologue.

Walken just stated, and I quote: "I am a simple man with simple needs." No one asks for clarification. Thank all that is holy. I realize I am taking this out of context just to make fun of him, but hey: This is my inner monologue.

End of class.

I know, I know, I'm a jerk. But at least I stayed awake during class.

TGIF.

*For some reason my inner narrative is a surfer from CA/Hawaii. I don't know.