The bit of me that watches the rest of me

I felt it Monday while I was leaving Denver.  I was reluctant to leave my friends behind and go back to Summit.  Not that I don't have friends in Summit, but they aren't as weird and crazy and fun as Lindsay and Cris.  While preparing to reenter my day-to-day reality again, that little separate bit of my mind whispered, "Pay attention."  Already, I was putting the mental blocks back in place and assuming the mask that I wear in everyday life.  Language history and word etymologies aren't that interesting.  Awful scifi movies aren't that funny.  Intellectual and existential books, movies, and music are at best only vaguely interesting and boring/confusing the rest of the time.  It's a little disheartening, but this is how I've learned to avoid the glassy-eyed stares and poorly-hidden disdain that I know so well.

It's the little part of my mind that knows what's going on in my dreams and keeps me from panicking in my nightmares.  If someone is acting like a complete bitch or asshole, even as I'm raging I'll feel it wondering, "What's really going on here?"  When the rest of me is on top of the world with elation or being crushed by sadness, it calmly reminds me to watch what's happening and asks, "If you were writing this, how would you describe it?"