Sometimes I wish my soul would go away. Go away, I tell it, go away and hide where I can’t find you anymore. Go away so I can focus on what I’m “supposed” to be doing.
Sometimes I felt like that in school, after hours and hours of studying for a class I knew I should never have taken. My soul hadn’t been fed in a long time, so it got all parched and lonely. It would whine in my ear that it needed some love and attention. But I would just tell it to shut up and go back to studying.
Sometimes I wonder if other people’s souls don’t bother them the way mine does. How can you do a job you hate for over twenty years? How can you stay with a woman/man you don’t love? Why does society mean that much to you?
My soul is an annoying creature that will rear its head no matter what I do. It wants things, and there’s no reasoning with it. Sometimes it will have to sniff around a bit to figure it out, but it will always let me know when I can’t do something without beating it to death. Like when I tried to take up golf. Golf is a solid, respectable sport. It also enables you to network with lots of extremely rich people who might a) give you a job or b) give you money. Overall, a solid investment, golf. Except for the fact my soul really objected to it. The more balls I whacked, the more tired it got, until I finally took the hint and just stopped trying.
So what does my soul like to do? Well, it kindof likes to write. It especially likes to write fiction. I used to not let it indulge in this because, you know, writing fiction isn’t exactly considered the thing to do. But my soul frankly couldn’t care less about any of those considerations. My soul turns into a plump, fat cat when I write. A cat that’s just had the most amazing catnip ever. If I don’t do it…well, I have to pump my soul full of what it needs, or else it just crumbles into dust. Not nice dust either, the sort of dirt-infested dust that chokes every orifice.
So what can I do? I suppose I could do the “smart thing” and just stop listening to my soul. But I have a sneaking suspicion that other things will happen if I do. A suspicion that I might turn into an extremely unpleasant person.
Hence my soul and I just have to muddle along the best we can. It sucks that my soul has no real interest in engineering, law or finance. If your soul does, then you should consider yourself very lucky. But I have to listen to my soul or else it will turn into something I don’t like. Like the nasty black mould that grows in really old food containers. Don’t ask me why that will happen. I frankly have no idea. All I know is that my soul needs what it needs, and I better not tell it no.