As I was ("walking by the shore/I happened there to see/A woman's form a-lying there/As still as still could be/The dress she wore was gingham blue/Her hair all tumbled down/Oh, it might have been my own true love/My sweetheart, Jenny Brown...") copying about a million pages of stuff at work today, and listening to the Beatles and Beach Boys and Avril Lavigne (The mix on my work computer is a little--odd.) something my mom says came to mind.
Whenever I go off on a tangent, or start singing showtunes, like in a musical, or am standing in a silent room, dancing to the music in my head ("You and I march to the beat of a different drum/or can't you tell by the way I run/Everytime you make eyes at me...") my mom says,
"You have a rich inner life, don't you sweetie?"
Hmm.
A rich inner life--why, yes I suppose I do. And as I thought about that, I suddenly felt so very sorry for all the people who don't have rich inner lives. What if they were standing there, copying bajillions of pages of something, and with Beach Boys and Avril Lavigne and Beatles playing, all that happened was that their minds when blank, and they robotically went through the motions of copying stuff? How frightfully dull.
Instead, I was sitting there humming (to the tune of, "Good Vibrations") the words from "I am the very model of a modern major-general" and trying to recall all the presidents of the United States (I always forget who came after FDR--dear me). Among other things.
Why, yes, I do have a rich inner life.
How Ironic.
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