#99 - I Talk to Myselves

It's true and I can admit it. I do it a lot. I mean, not out loud so much … well OK, out loud. But at least I'm hyperconscious about maintaining the flailing arms to conceal any evidence of my attempt to reign victorious in the current internal debate. But doesn't everyone respond to those nagging inner voices with some form of discourse? I mean, it is part of being human to socially interact whether it is with a person, a pet, or a volleyball with palm shoots for hair named Hanes. Wait, what I meant was Wilson. Hanes was his other friend. And by nagging, I mean it never stops. The conjecture feels like a perpetual flow, with the impatient expectation of logical responses. Because if you're a critical thinker or even someone who questions the meaning of your existence, you're hardwired to answer reasonable inquiries – whether or not they're self-provoked. You can only ignore yourself for so long. They say that there are three necessities in life to survive: food, water and companionship. And in these times of fewer and fewer options for companions, sometimes you've got to turn to yourself for a good chat. And I'm my own bestie – especially on those Saturday mornings that begin with a dab of Green Queen and a cup of coffee. Bam! Me, Myself and Irene are off to a roaring start, gossiping it up while the eggs get fried, the lawn gets mowed, and the Stoney Baloney gets wrote. First, there's the voice who offers advice, then the one who loves to criticize, followed by the one who offers condolence, etc. Of course, as I continue to work on the royal "we" through self-care, the rebuts are often careful considerations for the emotional, sensitive myself. Except for the times when I feel like being a brat. But let's not bring him into it. Hey, I've gotta go. I'm receiving a butt dial from me.