Picking Up Steam.

The little voice.
You know the Speaker I'm speaking of.
The One that tells you to do things.  Tells you to do the somethings that stop you from acting against your better judgement.  Or to do the somethings deemed better judgement. Typically It speaks the somethings synonymous with my clingy, heavy, irritating but oh, so refining-ly wonderful life theme: do hard things.
I can't tell you exactly when this started, but it seems as though my inner vocalist is picking up steam.
It is a bit more persistent these days. I might even go so far as to say stubborn. 
So much so that I start inner verbal wars with it. 
And it's standing up for itself. 
Example:

Me: I don't want to run anymore.
Voice: Just keep running.
Me: (weakly and winded) Okay fine.  A little bit farther.

A few steps later.

Me: Alright, I'm done.
Voice: No, you are not.
Me: Excuse me? Whose running this ship anyway? [hahaha. get it.  running this ship? obviously accidental pun, noticed upon revision.]
Voice: Clearly not you since you feel the need to inform me of your done-ness.  Or should I say quit-erness.
Me: Okay. That's enough out of you.  I am not a quitter. 
Voice:  You're right.  You're still running.  And faster now too.
Me: Well, when can I stop then?
Voice: After you get to the top of the hill.
Me: But if I turn now, I can run down the road with the gradual incline and skip the hill.
Voice: Hill.
Me: ...
Me: To the Hill it is.

I always know the Voice is right.
Maybe that's why I argue with it.  It's the better part of me.  Showing me up.  Knowing the right thing to do.  Even though most of the time it's the right thing that involves some burning in my muscles and some dying of my pride.  Maybe that's why I argue with it.  Because it always asks me to do the hard things. It's been asking me lately to filter words spoken out of immaturity or emotion before they come tumbling out in an awful heap. Telling me to shape up or ship out when I just want to sit in my grumpiness and carry around crabby.  Insisting I take risks.  Do uncomfortable things. 

I'd like to think that the Voice isn't a separate identity.  That it really is Me.  The truth filled parts of me.  The parts of me that know what is good and right.  I'm still not sure exactly what happenings started this little steam engine of truth telling, but I'm glad it's here.  I'm hoping the lines between the It and Me get blurry.  And although It may lose a battle or two, I'm praying It will win the war.