I talk to myself. Which is OK, except I’ve started answering me back.
Sometimes I have long, involved discussions with me while puttering around the house. I’m a sparkling self-conversationalist! I also talk to the TV and the cat, but I don’t think that counts. When I talk to the TV and my husband is in the room, I consider that social interaction.
Most of the self-chatting is done in my car. Almost every day I spend quality time going to the bank, the store, lunch and commuting. If I’m listening to talk radio, I talk back. If I’ve got music on, I sing along. Loudly. Then I critique me. I can be pretty hard on me, but it’s for my own good.
I like to give advice to other drivers. I give a lot of advice, and I deliver it with a lot of passion.
I use most of my car time to write. Well, not really, because I’m driving. But I think up and develop most of my blog posts in the car – I call it writing out loud.
A therapist would probably have a field day with this. They would say I:
– like the sound of my own voice
– have no friends
– am a managing witch who can’t resist telling everyone what to do
– hate my mother
But I’m not worried. This isn’t a Sybil thing. Nobody else is rolling around in my brain; it’s just me, myself and I. I’m not walking around town muttering while checking the trash cans. I only do it when I’m by myself. So far.
Perception counts more than reality, however, so I’ve come up with a way to disguise this innocent habit.
I was in the restroom at O’Hare airport many years ago when I realized that the person in the next stall was talking to herself. One of the poor, crazy people who wander around big airports, I assumed. Imagine my surprise when a chic businesswoman emerged from the stall! She had one of those (then) new-fangled cell phones pressed to her ear. This was the first time I met “The Person Whose Conversation Is So Important It Can’t Be Interrupted To Do Her Doody”. It would not be the last time. My first thought was “How did she get her panty hose back up with one hand?” My second thought was “Hygiene? Eeeew!”
Drawing from that experience, I’m going to use cell phone technology to my advantage. More specifically, a Bluetooth, hands-free, earbud gizmo. I’ve taken to wearing one whenever I’m in my car. Now when someone pulls up next to me at a light and sees me waving my arms around and talking animatedly, they think I’m on the phone, and that I’m Italian.
That ought to take care of the situation. But I’ll make a deal with you. If I’m talking to myself and I start answering in voices I don’t recognize, I’ll seek professional help.