Memorandum To An Overactive Imagination:

Herself, Inc.

from the desk of

Kiersten M. Lawrence

Senior Manager

   My dear Overactive Imagination,

   Greetings and salutations.

   I see this letter finds you in good health.  On most given days, I would rejoice with you in that, but it also seems you are feeling a bit overzealous at the moment, and in such a state you are being a small — how shall I put this? — distraction to the 95% of the rest of me that would dearly love to get a night's sound sleep.

   It has been brought to my attention that my visual cortex exposed you to five minutes of a slasher movie today in humanities class.  I shall have to have a talk with her about that.  She should know by now that suspenseful, frightening murder scenes make you feverish.  It would seem this was a conspiracy in which my judgment center was also a participant.  Sometimes I think my decision-making center has not quite grasped the fact that there a direct link between your rovings in the world of the creepy and horrible, and the supply lines to the Irrational Fears and Nightmares faction that took up residence in my brain when I was just a little tot, and whom I have not yet been successful in starving out.  A slow learner, my Discerning Judgment-Making Center is.  In future, I advise you not to believe every ridiculous little thing you receive from those greedy sensory stimuli.  Perhaps you should double-check the keywords on your spam filters.  I really don't want to have to start forwarding your mail through the You're-Being-A-Wretched-Idiot fulcrum.  He can be positively merciless.

   When I notice a lack of educated judgment among our members, I view it as my solemn and Rhapsodizian duty to correct it.  To mollify your low attention span, I will try to put this as succinctly as possible:  

  Shut up, darling.

  I just don't think you realize how utterly valueless your rambles through the land of nihilistic speculation are.  You need to understand that while there are many excellent times and places to romp through the universes of the wonderfully preposterous, there are certain times (e.g., the present moment) when it would be beneficial to all members of this body if you would please quiet down and anchor yourself in land of the realistic.  And there are places—the places that seeing images from things like slasher movies make you think you should go—that you should never, never wander into, especially at night.  They provide not only annoyance to me, but actually are capable of causing irrefutable harm.  Please refrain from even dipping your metaphorical toes into vivid speculations of visitations from serial killers or cannibals or psychotic supervillains or showers.  They are decidedly unappreciated.

   I apologize for the relative harshness of my discourse in this letter, but previous "gentle nudges" have not served to get my point across.  I sincerely hope you take my warnings to heart and adjust your behavior accordingly.  It would cause me great grief to be forced to implement more drastic measures.

   Again, I send my fondest felicitations and prayers your way.

   Included in this envelope is a week's supply of Valium.  Yes, that is a hint which I intend you to take.

   I remain, 

  Your loyal friend, willing servant, and tortured owner, etc.,

        

            Kiersten M. Lawrence