I don’t know about you, but I find sometimes I have the most incredible conversations with myself. Not about any one thing in particular, just well, everything.
I sometimes think they are the most quality communication I have. Other times I wonder if I should start picking out a shopping cart and research meds.
Even as a little kid I used to talk to myself. I’d sit on the swingset and sing songs I made up. I tell stories. I’d make jokes. I would have a grand old time. My Ma always thought how cute it was that I had an imaginary friend and I couldn’t burst her bubble by telling her that I wasn’t talking to anyone but me.
The habit carried over to adult life. I have conversations that I’ve edited and rewritten. You know the ones? Where you got caught flat-footed in real life? Somebody got on you about something and you just stood there, mouth agape, little wheezing sounds or moans coming out but no words. Or you said something so lame that you had the inclination to grab a serving spoon and scoop them back into your mouth before anyone noticed? Yep, those are some of my favorite conversations. I am instantly transformed into the witty, intelligent, always-has-a-snappy-comeback girl I believe myself to be.
Then there are the political debates while listening to talk radio and driving to the bank. I don’t know why it’s always during the trip to the bank, it just works out that way. Hell, I mop up the floor with the Washington elite…in my mind.
I also have fights with my room mate, my friends and/or family without their being present. You know what I’m talking about here? They’ve done something or said something that’s just really pissed you off – but you hold your tongue. It simmers and boils and grates on you. Next thing you know you’re railing at them while driving your car to pick up the pizza. Never noticing the other drivers’ perplexed looks. Perhaps they are wondering if you are talking to them?
Of course, there are also the little pep talks I have to give myself. “Don’t worry, the company won’t shut down. If the car breaks you have money on your credit cards. You just need to keep working out and that fat ass will eventually have to go away. You really can write that damned synopsis. You just need to stop playing computer games and get to work. You look okay today. No, really you do.”
And the little scoldings. “I should never have eaten that cake. What was I thinking? My ass isn’t big enough? They’ll never let you on a plane with that ass, you’ll have to buy two seats.” Or “This time Dr. Mindell won’t scold me. My gums will look good. I’ve been flossing. I’ve been brushing. I’ve been good. He won’t look at me in that resigned, apathetic way this time.”
Now, maybe I should be worried. Maybe there really is something wrong with me. Because people are supposed to talk to other people, right? They shouldn’t prefer their own company to others, should they? They make meds for this, right?
But the funny thing is, I’m not worried. Nope, not at all. I actually think in a weird, writer sort of way, it’s healthy. I can vent to myself and nobody gets hurt. I can confide in myself and nobody gets embarrassed. I can have a fight, make up and nobody’s the wiser. Hey, it’s all good here.
Anybody else have conversations with themselves. Come on, you can tell me. I swear I won’t say a word. 😉