The demons in my head have resurfaced.

As I lay here on the couch, wearing yoga pants and eating home-made rice pudding, I realize that I got so caught up in my sore throat and runny nose that I didn’t even notice the demons moving in. Hell, they rolled their moving truck right on up to my left earlobe, and started unpacking their furniture. So now I have a whole family of demons (Mr. & Mrs. I. Doubt-it Negatory, their two crotchbrats, Snippy and Cut-Throat, and the family cat, NoNoNo), going about their daily business of cutting my brain apart, while I try to keep myself convinced that I’m doing just fine, thanks.

Those little buggers brought the Henkels knives and they are going to town! Slice, cut, saw, pull – They’re trying to fillet my noodle! And they’re good at it. It sure doesn’t take them long to inflict maximum damage, and by the end I’m almost ready to give up on everything. Until The Cheerleader I Live With steps in…

After a handful of subtle ‘I-hate-me’ coded messages The Cheerleader I Live With tromps up the stairs and stands beside me, as I lay face-down on the couch. Ignoring the fact that my head is dangling off the couch, (making my face turn a lovely shade of redurple), and my feet are slow-motion-tantrum-kicking, he simply says, “demons again, huh?”

Wiping my nose on the carpet (I’ll clean that up, I promise. Well, if the dog doesn’t get to it first), I swing my You’re A Loser-heavy head toward him and say, “yeah.”

The Cheerleader I Live With pulls my dead-weight up to his chest, and I lay there snurfling and snotting up his work shirt for a few minutes. He pats my hair and, with chivalry, ignores the adolescent-boy sounds my nose is making as I cry. He doesn’t say much, but after a few minutes I feel better. I think he has slipped an Eviction Notice into my ear. I appreciate that.

For tiny little bastards, those demons sure have a big impact, like a psychological nuclear bomb, flattening my optimism and disintegrating my self-worth. I hate them. I really, really do. So, I’m going to go have a bath now, and try to steam them out of my head.

Maybe I’ll eat some more rice pudding, too.

…I’ll Definitely eat some more rice pudding.

(I’ll save some for you, Cheerleader I Live With, I promise…)