Peace Treaty

On my Just 10 walk, a bug flew into my ear.  Inside, my head the klaxon sounded, "Intruder Alert."  I didn't need any intruders this morning.   I was earnestly working on a peace treaty between my inner witch and the resident, I-want-to-taste-it-all hedonist.  They seemed to have started fighting in deadly earnest before I woke up this morning. 

 Before my feet touched the floor, my inner witch was firing at me.  She lives inside a dark, inner turret of terror and has been there for as long as I can remember.   She spends her time firing critical volleys at my self-confidence, my chubby hedonist, my maternal instincts and anyone or anything.  Nothing is safe.  This morning, she is vicious.  "What's wrong with you? Getting up at 9:20.  You've got lots of things to do.  You are so lazy."  I quickly dive into a fox hole.  There in the trench is my chubby hedonist.  "Hi, there,"  she purrs.  "Let's talk breakfast.  You've got that wonderful artisan bread you just baked and don't forget the oatmeal cookies you defrosted.  Just think of how that bread will taste, toasted, spread with butter so that it melts in all the nooks and crannies.  You must top it with homemade strawberry jam."  I jump out of the trench, braving the hail of the witches' taunts and race to the kitchen. 

Two cookies and toast with jam later, the witch is firing like a crazy woman.  Taking off  for my walk, I duck out the door hoping to leave her behind.  She's flying right behind me.  The  chubby hedonist jumps on my back so she doesn't have to exert herself.  The two of them are driving me crazy.  At first the witch is quite persuasive.  She often speaks truth or at least pieces of it.  She tell me that I lack discipline.  I know she is right.  I'm a kooky butterfly catcher always chasing after some new idea, book, laugh or taste sensation.  I often flitter through my days, easily distracted, quick to forget my earnest resolutions.  The taste-it-all hedonist loves that about me.  I'm fed up with both of them. 

I walk faster, a small rivulet of perspiration dampens my brow.  The noise of battle eases.  I sit on a hill far away from witch and hedonist who are still fighting.  Out of ammo, they are locked in physical combat, rolling about a sunny meadow.  I start to enjoy the show.  The witch, complete with warts and black hat has her bony arms locked around the chubby little hedonist who has a face covered in strawberry jam.  They make me smile.  These two are a couple of feisty idiots.  In time, I start to feel sorry for them.  It's time to step in and break it up.  The witch needs to take a time-out in her turret of terror and strawberry-jam-coated, hedonist needs to take a nap in her foxhole.  (I bet she has her own kitchen there or at least a wet bar and hot plate.)

A wise inner mom emerges from hiding and separates the combatants, each to their own corner.  They have to learn to get along with each other.  They are both stuck here.  They can even help each other.  Enough of the fighting.   Maybe in time, they can enjoy each others' company and even have fun on occasion.  They aren't quite ready to believe that yet but I know it's true.  The witch is often right.  She can really help with the focus issues and self disciple.  The hedonist knows how to enjoy what the world has to offer.  She can ease the frown lines on the witches' face and share some of her tasty treats.  (The witch could really stand to gain a few pounds.)

About this point, the bug enters my ear.  I am vaguely aware of it.  I naturally try to remove said bug and I seemed to have achieved that objective.  I don't know if I can take much credit for it's extraction.  It probably took one look at the battle raging inside my head and flew in the opposite direction as fast as its' little bug wings could carry it.  If it had stayed just a wee bit longer, he might have witnesses the detente achieved over a kitchen table.  There the witch and hedonist enjoyed chocolate chip oatmeal cookies and a glass of milk. If you look really closely, you can see the beginning of a smile on the witches' face.  The hedonist passes her another cookie.