i talk to myself. sometimes out loud. sometimes silently in my head. i call myself "precious." i argue with myself and ask provocative questions to force me to work through problems and come up with revelations and solutions. i sing to myself. i am my own shrink. i am also my big sister and my inner child. i am my alter ego with a napoleon complex. and sometimes that me gets juxtaposed against my predominant ji.miny cricket. i am my harshest editor and my most honest critic. i am a cheerleader for myself. and sometimes, after i've come out of a funk, i realize with the benefit of hindsight that i am the one who allowed myself to get into that funk in the first place. i am sane precisely because i recognize the wisdom of the insane act of talking to myself. though that act is most often associated with the crazed, i value it and embrace it. my mom does it. that means it can't be all that bad...
|