I talk to myself. I talk to myself a lot. Right now, I’m talking to myself. Last week, when we were talking about that movie, I was having a full blown conversation inside my head. Tomorrow, on that conference call, I’ll be talking to myself. I do it all the time. All the time.

I know. I know. I know. I must be bat shit crazy. I am out of my freaking mind, ridiculously, completely, entirely, unconditionally out of my bloody mind. I can’t even lie about it. Not even going to try.

What are these conversations I’m having with myself? They’re every conversation I’ve ever had with anyone, the conversations I only wish I’d had, the conversation we may have next week, and the conversations I wish I’d never had. Of course, it’s not verbatim the way it did or will happen. Each run through my head under goes subtle editing to make them the best possible versions and outcomes of these conversations.

I cannot emphasize enough that these are quite possibly the most mundane moments of my life, rehashed, reworked, and rewritten over and over in my head.  These are conversations with family, friends, acquaintances, co-workers, etc..  There’s no moment in life, real or imaginary, too significant for me to obsess on.

And even when there’s not the conversations playing in my mind, there’s what I like to call “The Narrator.”  Every moment of my life goes through my head like a story.  Not only that, but depending on what I’ve been reading, the style of the narration changes.  For example, if I’ve been reading “Pride and Prejudice”, The Narrator turns phrases in a way that reminds me of Jane Austen.  I’m sure you’re not aware that my life is the world’s most tedious novel yet being written.

The thing is, sometimes when it’s quiet, or I’m just bored, or I’m alone, or feel like I’m alone, I get into it, and I make facial expressions, sometimes move my lips, and even gesture.  I’ve caught myself, riding BART, walking down the street, sitting in my cube, and I’ve been terribly embarrassed.  But that’s nothing.

A couple of weeks ago, Wonder Dave, my amazing hair stylist who I adore, was cutting my hair.  He suddenly turned to me, and asked, “Are you whispering to yourself?”

That’s right.  My hair dude caught me talking to myself and called me out on it.


But hey, my hair looks good!

Just sayin’.

Author: peggyluwho

What do you want to know? I'm a California native, and right now, I live 6 miles from where I was born. I'm single. I'm a feminist.

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