Having been someone with a pretty loud internal monologue manifest over the course of my forty-six years of life, it has always been a source of interest to me to dispassionately observe the topics that make up the main theme of the monologue at various times - through periods of change and continuity, through personal crises and successes, through epoch-making instances, and to the extent that the dull, daily drivel of being a productive contributor to the global economy determines your abiding self-image.
The main theme that's running through my head these days is; ageing. That's not really a surprise considering that my main source of employment involves long, meaningful hours spent contemplating and managing the daily foibles of a plethora of older people availing of federal government subsidies to sustain their independence in (what they don't always describe as) their golden years.
My monologue, though, has also been considering ageing through a lens of pitiful self-awareness - I now have two chronic health conditions, diagnosed over the last couple of years, necessitating the daily intake of medication, and shaping just how my prospects appear to me over the next (possible) thirty-plus years of a now compromised life. It dwells on a sudden, unprepared-for end and what it would leave behind in its financial wake. How that would shape my wife's and daughter's remaining years - in the context of my own experience of the loss of my parents. What retirement really means. What fantastical experiences remain to me over the following years. What legacy I have left behind. What emotions I have engendered among those who have known me. What memories I will linger in, and what must be forgotten or hidden.
I am painfully becoming aware, through my internal monologue, that I have now become something that I don't recognize; that I have preoccupations now that preternaturally defeat my will to keep a sense of myself as weak away at the far recesses of consciousness. I have even started to forget spellings of words and their meanings; I used 'they' instead of 'there', and 'respectively' instead of 'respectfully' in two work emails recently - something that I sincerely could not have imagined myself doing, considering that 'proof-reading' is an existential matter to my sense of self... proving that even the hitherto rock-solid checks and balances in the sacrosanct are now at risk.
My monologue also continues to delve into the idea of violence; a fitful concept that hasn't visited me that often physically and, if I am honest, not even psychologically or emotionally in any sustainable way through my life. It seems like the occasional violent thought that runs through my internal monologue is some kind of last-ditch effort to retain a whiff of that wild, uncontrollable rebel I confronted in the mirror each day in my late teens and early twenties; reflecting the current status of the pathetic, miserable, and scared young man I was, posturing with all my might about... what could be.