Monday, August 1, 2016

Whattya Mean I Talk to Myself?

When what’s on top thins and what’s in the middle thickens, we blame it on age. But when someone tells us we talk to ourselves, we usually respond with a dignified denial.  

But, unfortunately, it’s part of the cycle. It goes along with the mysterious out of nowhere aches and pains, the wrinkles, and the perplexing lapses of memory. Then, as if to put a lid on it all, the talking to ourselves syndrome stalks us, especially if we live alone.

That’s ok, though, I’ll bet there’s a study somewhere, by some super scientist, who’s found that when we talk to ourselves, with anything that’s handy, we’re talking to a grown-up rendition of our early-childhood imaginary friend. Remember, the one we confided in that never told anyone what we said? (That type person is definitely imaginary.)

Anyway, with whatever, talking to ourselves is easy, natural, and comfortable. God created a world full of things we can talk to. For example, we talk to our pets. Whether it’s a dog, cat, fish, bird, worm, or whatever, we often talk to them about things other than their potty time or chow. 

Moreover, studies show some plants grow better when we talk to them, both inside and outside varieties. (If you talk to plants, please don’t talk to dandelions. They do well enough on their own.)

Nevertheless, I admit to having two roommates I talk to; my “C” friends. One is “MC”, which stands for “My Cat,” and the other is my computer, whose many names are generally not fit for publication. 
For me, my computer is strictly a “yes sir,” “no sir,” “it’s your way” relationship. However, if I had invented them, I’d have made sure they could spell and punctuate sentences.

MC responds to me with meows, purrs, and occasional pfffts. Like most cats, the meows and purrs are positive and the pfffts aren’t. Thus we’re on the same wavelength, and she gets fed.

However, I occasionally, frequently talk to myself through them. Like asking the computer why it forgot a comma, or MC if it’s time we go to bed.

When I realize I’m talking to an inanimate object, or a cat, I throw back my shoulders and defiantly pffft that “I’m the only one around here who’s intelligent enough to carry on a conversation with me, through them.”

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