I hate people looking over my shoulder, it’s the worst. They’re close and intrusive and they’re stealing my actions with their eyes.
It’s even worse when it’s me. I am so fed up of me looking over my own shoulder. She’s ridiculous.
I’ll be messaging someone a cheery, “How’s things?” And she throws in a helpful, “Are you sure that’s how you want to phrase that? Have you considered all the possible interpretations? What if their things are not doing well, is the cheeriness conducive to openness or does it close down the conversation? What if the response is awful? What if they’re dead?!”
She’s a plonker, and she’s always there, pointing out the faults and the worries. She’s one big “WHAT IF..?”, and I have to argue with her every day, over and over and over again, if I’m to get anything done.
Sometimes the argument is too much. I don’t have the energy to discuss why it’s ok to do what I want to do. Instead I slowly delete the words and step back from the interaction.
Then she points out that not sending anything could be interpreted as antisocial. I can’t win.
I made this monster. I cultivated her and built her from scratch. She is the result of having a brain that provides me with questions and not answers. She is my replacement for my lack of an automatic social-processor, and, on so many levels, she’s great.
She’s helped me notice things I might have missed; “They said they’re fine, but they’ve got a creased brow, maybe this time the words should be overruled?”
She’s helped me help people that I might have thought were fine if she wasn’t peering over that shoulder so firmly. She’s helped me interact better. She’s helped me be a better friend, a better wife, a better human.
That doesn’t mean she’s not annoying.
It would be nice to just know. It would be nice to not have to question and re-question every interaction. It would be lonely too. An automatic mind will miss the wood for the trees.
I wouldn’t be the person I am without her; My little personification of myself, who sits on my shoulder like a bossy older sister and tells me what is what.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish she’d shut up.