Talking to Myself

Now when I talk to myself, I can pretend I’m talking to my mother. That’s an unexpectedly happy development. Not only that, I find that I know exactly what she would say. Or at least I think I know what she would say. I know what she would think is hilarious and what would piss her off. I know when she’d tell me to lighten up and when I’d want to tell her to. I’m a bit of a freak show, no question, but let’s not pretend I didn’t talk to myself plenty before anyway. The neat piece is that the person I’m talking to in my head now—my mom—is always, always on my side, rooting for me. Whereas when I was talking to myself, I was liable to be self-disparaging, now with my mom’s voice in my head I’ve become my own cheerleader. So I may be certifiable, but hey, at least I’m cheerfully certifiable.