My Inner Demon

I have a demon inside me. I'm not talking possession or the hearing of voices necessitating anti-psychotics and electro-convulsive therapy. We've all got at least one demon- that voice hitchhiking in our mind, commenting on our thoughts. It can be loud or soft as a whisper, but it's almost always derisive. It puts down. It judges. It tears down- others, or maybe ourselves. It's the shadow of our personality, the thing we fight. My personal demon is named "Snark". She is the most intelligent, well-informed person in the room, and she knows it. She judges a person's clothing, their words, their etiquette, their posture. She comments on my own inner commentary. She wrestles with arguments in my head that I finished in the real world hours, days (sometimes years) ago. She says the rude things in my mind that I keep firmly clamped behind my smile. Though dangerous and in need of being kept in check, she can sometimes be funny. Plus, she allows me to get rid of the vitriol inside without unleashing it upon anyone. Today's conversation with Snark went thusly: A couple of tiny teen hipster girls standing nearby snicker about my weight and how poorly my clothing fits. So, Snark says to them, "Why, yes. I do have a little extra weight on me right now. I recently brought a new life into the world, thank you for noticing. Since I previously wore mostly children's sizes, I am still in my maternity clothes. However, I always feel moved to help those in need and it looks as if someone stole your pants and left you nothing but a big shirt! Bless your heart! Here's $20. I know it won't be enough to buy a new pair of skinny mint jeggings from whatever prosti-tot outlet you usually frequent, but it should cover a copy of Emily Post's book on Manners." Thankfully, I ignored Snark and waited on my take-out in peace.