I have a revolving group of tiny versions of me living in my head.
Don't laugh too much, I've been building this explanation of the female brain for a long time. In my head, there's the Nerdy Scientist, the Flirt, the Serious Writer, the Child, the Lonely Chick, the Teller of Bad Jokes, the Outgoing Socio-Political Type, the Grown Up Woman, the Fixer Of Things, and many more.
Today, the Anarchist Punk is dominating everything. I like her a lot. She is a tiny thing who survives on a diet of caffeine, painkillers, and angst, wears giant combat boots with her black hoodie sweatshirt and grungy jeans, and paints her conversations with a stream of profanity that would make Miley Cyrus say "Woah, that's just unnecessary". She doesn't like anyone. At all. She knows that they don't like her either and she's just fine with that. Anarchist Punk stomps around a lot and makes a lot of noise, and she really doesn't like it when I make her bite her tongue.
My little Punk would like it very much if there weren't quite so many rules because she's fairly sure she knows how to function without every single moment of her life being dictated by someone else. She really dislikes people who feel the need to overshare their personal lives. She would like to eat cheesy poofs and oreos and drink Mt Dew for almost every meal, and she doesn't much care for hardcore diet and exercise freaks that can't just enjoy a greasy burger with extra fries and gravy. She loves loud music, hates overprotective parents, and often contemplates the best way to dispose of the bodies of her true enemies.
I absolutely adore her.
Then again, that's true for every one of the versions of 'me' in my brain. There are many flavors to a personality, and this is how I picture all of mine.
