Mutiny in my Mouth

It can be embarrassing at times. My lips are moving, my tongue is waging, words are coming out of my mouth, but I have no idea what I'm saying.

I blame the increasing episodes of words gone amuck on the plaque, tangles and gooey stuff blocking the information highways in my brain. My thoughts, along with accompanying words, are speeding along in the fast lane;  they know exactly where they're going; they've been down these roads thousands of times before. Then, with no warning, everything comes to a screeching halt.  Could it be a chunk of plaque in the road? Or a glob of goo? Or a twisted gaggle of tangles? It doesn't really matter what has caused the roadblock; all thinking has stopped. But the words just keep on going.

Apparently, with all of the road deconstruction going on in my head, my words have decided to veer off on to the shoulder, speed on past the slowdown and go it alone. Who needs to be chaperoned by thoughts? Not my words. After spending decades in captivity being told what to say and when to say it, they are taking advantage of the blockades in my sixty-nine-year-old brain. They can express themselves now in ways only imagined before. They invent words when the right ones are stuck in a synapse traffic jam. "I heard that The Jerry Sprinkle Show is looking for couples who don't use perphylapstix."  See what I mean? I would never say something like that because I never watch The Jerry Sprinkle Show; I prefer Maury Polvichsky instead.

My words will tell you that there's a memory problem with their host--"I can't remember if I've told you this already, but..." and then they will repeat the same story you've heard a dozen times.  What you don't know is my words like to hear themselves talk so they say the same thing over and over and over again. Have I mentioned that my words like to repeat themselves? They will say the same thing over and over and over again. They'll tell you it's a memory problem. Don't believe them. They just like to hear themselves talk. Have I mentioned that?

Without my permission, my words add much more information to a story than is necessary. "I asked the lady--the one on the register closest to the front door, not the one by the bakery--where the silk milk--chocolate flavored, not vanilla--was and she said it was on aisle 16, but when I went to aisle 16, it wasn't there, so I went back to the clerk--this time the one by the bakery--and I asked where the silk milk was--chocolate, not vanilla--and she told me the very same thing that the lady at the register closest to the front door did, so thinking I had overlooked the silk milk--chocolate, not vanilla--I once again went back to aisle 16 and... ."

OH MY GOODNESS! MAKE IT STOP!

I can't. My words have a mind of their own; they don't need mine. My inability to control them has emboldened them, and they will stop at nothing to say what they want. They will not be encumbered by brakes in the brain. Because of this mutiny in my mouth--made up words, repeating, rambling, repeating, and lies--I don't think you should hold me responsible for anything I might say in the future.

Why are you looking at me that way?

What do you mean "the chocolate brownies are all gone"? I have not gone anywhere near those brownies on top of the refrigerator today. Do we have brownies? I didn't know we had brownies. Are they all gone?

What do you mean you can see chocolate under my fingernails and on my teeth? I have been digging in the dirt, planting pornsettas, and my teeth are black because I haven't brushed them yet today.

What do you mean you can still see a brownie in my mouth? That's no brownie, honey. That's mutiny.