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hearing voices
D. looks over the wall of my cubicle as he walks by, to say hello, and trips over the barrels of water stacked around the water cooler. "That's what you get for not looking where you're going," he says.
"That's what you get for being too tall," I say.
"What are you talking about?" he asks, slightly defensive, peering over the cubicle wall at me again.
"I don't like all these tall people looking over at me as they walk by, it's freaks me out."
"Oh, ok then," he says. "From now on when I walk passed I'll be sure to go like this." He steps away and walks around my cubicle, still talking. "How is this? Can you see me now?"
"No, I can't, that's perfect. Do that from now on."
"Isn't it more freaky to have someone talking to you when you can't see them, though?"
"Actually, I'm pretty used to the disembodied voices; I've learned to deal." There's a pause. "You know, because of doing transcription," I explain. He looks over the wall again.
"Oh, I thought you were going to say, 'Because I'm treating them with medication. You think that they're the voices of people walking by that you can't see, but really they're the voices in your head."
"Yeah," I say. "And they all sound like you."
"That's funny," he says, "the voices in my head sound like me too!"
"Ooooh, spooky," I say. "Maybe it's God talking to us. Maybe God's voice just sounds like you."
He doesn't say anything, just walks away.
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"The mind of the thoroughly well informed [person] is a dreadful thing. It is like a bric-a-brac shop, all monsters and dust, and everything priced above its proper value."
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