Sinn

Telephone me. Not call me. Not phone me. Telephone me.

It's awesome and i'm going to use it.

I didn't partake in any social activity this weekend. I spent most of it inside my head. Which, for the most part is an entirely pleasant experience. I promise myself that i will be friends with my mind forever. We've had some rough times together, but we get through them. I've named my mind sinn.

Is that weird?

No, not sinn as in those things they tell you to confess to priests... it's just the Norwegian translation of mind. (I don't speak Norwegian, but the internet does).

Sinn tells me lots of contradictory things but mostly just to point out various perspectives on one matter. And more often than not, sinn stears me in the right direction.

You wouldn't believe the things sinn came up with to occupy my time this weekend.

"Sinn," i says, "do you really know what you are doing? Is this letter really a good idea. Do you really think i should be telling her these things."

Sinn was appalled by my distrust, "Trust me. I know more than you think."

Of course, sinn has the advantage of being in touch with those parts of my unconscious that i have not unlocked. And i should know by now not to doubt, but this was an exceptionally odd and particularly random demand. In the end, i went through with it. Well, sinn went through with it and i watched.

My trust in sinn has skyrocketed. We both feel better about it.