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I don't really think there's any point in trying to get in touch with my inner child. I'm so old the bugger's probably already packed its suitcase and headed off to college! If she is still in there, somewhere, she's probably dead. Played in the pancreas after dark, or something.

Believe me, there was a time in my life when I tried to find her. It seemed no matter how many letters I wrote, or how many messages in bottles I tried to shove down my throat, they always returned to me in my stool a few days later, the body's less polite "Return to Sender" stamp. Had she even seen them? I didn't know. There was no reply, ever.

Perhaps my inner child resents me for swallowing her in the first place. Whenever I try to explain about the whole process of finding a girl who looked like me, and trying to open my jaws wide enough to fit her in, the uncomfortable laughter of my listeners is always a comfort that I am not alone in this struggle. But in this day and age, it's no longer considered "socially acceptable" to get in heated arguments with your stomach, unless you're pregnant. Oh, to live in the good old days.

On the other hand, maybe my inner child is there, she's just protecting me. I mean, last I heard, people were getting in trouble for touching children. Or- and I'm just thinking out loud here- what if my inner child is some horrific creature, and she's saving me from herself? Whoah. To think there's a little werewolf youth living inside me! Weird.

I don't know. If that's what's really going on, then I don't think I want to know. Let sleeping inner children lie, that's my motto.

Learn more about this author, Lucille Gun.
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