#99 - I Talk to Myselves

<p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>And by nagging, I mean it never stops.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>You can only ignore yourself for so long.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’m receiving a butt dial from me.</p>