Somewhere in the years of my formal therapy, I started calling the voices in my head, "Puppets." Somewhere in the years since my personal therapy moved into its current "Maintenance Phase," I started organizing the "Puppets" into "Puppet Shows." The "shows" being the recurring themes among the voices in my head. The Kiddie Porn Show. The Sibling Show. The My Mommy Show. The Me The Mommy Show. Etcetera, etceteri. The space between my ears really might be the noisiest spot on Earth. An active trading floor ain't got nothing on the vocal competition in my head.

The Engineering Puppet Show might be the most developed of my puppet shows. During my psychotic breaks, it provided the most sophisticated complications. Maybe. Hard to know what is what during a psychotic break. It also accounted for most of my formal career development. Statistically verified fact. When I retired from construction in 1995 to take charge of adolescents playing on the fringes of The Juvenile Justice System, I pretty much incarcerated my engineering aspects. I even bought me some pumps and pearls. I tried hair dye too, but. . . People actually PAY to have those chemicals poured on their heads????

But my tinkering urges are still very much there. Some of the Old-Timers here might remember previous rambles about my efforts to get past the phantoms between me and my toolbox. The trigger for this round of contemplation is my hippie truck. He needs work. Poor little guy's been rode hard and put away wet.

Sorting. . . Thanks for the sort space.