I am the needle, the scar and the cellar door.
I don't know how to put this any other way, so I'll just come out and say it outright...
I am divorcing my voice of reason. We have been going through some tough times lately and neither of us are up to the arduous task of relationship maintenance. I have come to the conclusion that Mitch is no longer welcome inside my head. The good news is that there exists a greater than 42% chance of living a healthy, productive life without 50% of one-third of my psyche. Dr. Sigmund Freud identified the "Conscience" and the "Ideal Self" as the two components of the Superego, and I will be damned if I let the latter continue to batter the former. I still have my precious Id and I will not let go of my Ego. I will carry on with the ideal self without the constant, erroneous banter of my conscience. If my math is good, I am left with approximately 80% of my entire psyche intact. If I had ever received 80% on a math quiz throughout the duration of my formal educational phase, I would have been beside myself with joy...except Mitch would have intervened with his usual emotional abuse, killing the moment entirely.
Out, damned voice! Out I say!
Until now, my eyes have been open but their senses shut tight.
The bad news is that this particular deal that we have reached releases Mitch into the world as a physical human being. Even worse news, he does not get to come back as Mitch Hedberg. If that were the case I would have unleashed him long ago.
We have the same blood type. We share DNA. We probably even where the same type of shoes. But we are no longer one entity. We will still disagree. He may continue to ridicule. But we no longer play for the same team. We are competitors and I do not feel the slightest bit of guilt over it.
That pesky thing is solely his, now. I have washed my hands of it. Of him.
Jazz Hands of the highest order are...well...in order.
It's time to serve...
Today's Jazz Hands divided and conquered. Day one-hundred and thirty complete.
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