It’s kind of like this:
You hear a pounding, and you look over, and they’re setting up camp.
So you shout, “Excuse me! EXCUSE ME!”
They stop to look at you.
“You can’t pitch your tent here,” you say.
“Why not?” they ask.
“It’s my property and there’s no camping here."
They ignore you and continue pounding stakes into the soft ground.
“EXCUSE ME. I said there’s no camping here!”
“Look, it’ll only be a few days.”
They’re starting to get on your nerves now.
“It doesn’t matter. This isn’t your property. It’s mine. And I’m saying you can’t camp out here.”
They start to build a fire.
“Are you serious right now?”
Their nonchalance makes your blood boil. The way they act like what you want means nothing at all. You’re just another hurdle to jump over. They own everything in the world, according to them.
You begin knocking their tent down.
“I… said… no… CAMPING!”
“That’s fine,” they say. “It’s a nice night. I can sleep out here by the fire.”
You stomp on the flame they've managed to create.
“Why do you have such a problem with me?” they ask.
“Because you don’t belong here,” you reply. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re never supposed to be here. So take your sticks and go build a fire somewhere else.”
“You have a lot of room here. Why can’t I stay here for a bit?”
“Somebody else might want to stay here and if they come and see you here, they’ll leave. And maybe I don’t want them to leave. Maybe I’d rather them be here than you.”
“Wow,” they say. “That’s harsh. Why does it matter who camps here and who doesn’t?”
“Because,” you say. “This is my mind. I say who’s allowed to be in it and who isn’t.”
“Well,” they say. “Doesn’t seem to work that way, does it?”
They stop for a moment, then suggest in a tone that is almost insulting, “Tell you what. I’ll rest back here. So whoever comes along can camp wherever they want over there.”
They move their tent back, and begin to build a new fire. You don’t know what to say anymore. You can’t argue with that. You’re too tired and just want to pitch your own tent and rest somewhere. So you let them stay. And it works out fine, you suppose. Nobody seems to mind them being there as they camp inside your head. You almost forget they’re there.
Except, every once in a while, you’ll peek over… and there they’ll be, roasting marshmallows.