2.24.14

Near Til-Til, Chile - Cuesta la Dormida 

I wasn't alone, by myself, for 11 months. For 11 months I had someone with me. Watching me. Making sure if I turned a corner in the grocery store to look at the Cheetos, they were right there looking at the Doritos. When I started those months, that was a big fear of mine. Being not alone. And I feared for the other person, because I wasn't sure how long I'd last before punching that other person—who I could hear breathing outside the bathroom door—in the face. And now, after 11 months, I'm alone quite a bit. I drive without a co-pilot, I see movies with empty seats on either side, I go down the chips AND soda aisles by myself. And two weekends ago, I was home alone for four days and three nights. And I discovered something about myself.

I talk to myself. All. The. Time.

This isn't an anomaly by any means. Other people talk to themselves all the time, too. Sometimes when they're alone. Sometimes when they're with others. In the office, the kitchen, the car, the grocery store. But it is interesting, at least to me, the way in which I speak to myself.

When I'm frustrated or confused: When no one is there to help me talk through problems, well, I guess I don't really need them. I talk and mutter and play the devil's advocate and bring up counter-opinions and agree with myself and disagree and change my mind. And my mind's mind. And then, it seems, I go write about it.

In the car: I'm not talking to myself. I'm yelling at the other drivers. Morons.

When I'm happy: When I'm regular happy, I don't talk to myself. But when I land an interview, or just get through an interview, when I find something sA-WEET at Target, when I find old music that busts my head open with memories, when it's raining like the ark has just been completed, that's when I laugh with myself. I get almost hysterical, telling myself about what I'm going to do, what I remember, how funny that person's name will be if she marries so-and-so, if they have southern-style chicken in the north, how badly I have to go to the bathroom, everything. Every is wonderful, even my hangnail doesn't bother me. And I tell myself so. Even that jerk of an interviewer is a great guy because I can let the laughter and relief burst through my mouth as I yell, "What a JACKass!" and remember all the funny faces I gave him in what should've been a professional interview. I love talking to myself. I don't have to justify anything. Me totally understands me. What an incredible thing, if I do say so myself. And I have said it. Outloud. To myself.

I don't know about you, but I think speech is incredibly powerful, regardless of how many people hear you.

This photo has nothing to do with my post, but it is in my top 5 favorite photos from my mission. I was in Lampa, Chile. 

*One last thing: I would like it noted that I spelled "anomaly" correctly in this post withOUT the aid of spellcheck. OK, that's all.

2 comments:

  1. haha. I totally talk to myself too. Sometimes I bust out in song and sing my life like a musical, but only when I'm alone.

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  2. I talked to myself too, but it's not nearly so interesting. More muttering. Sometimes, I hear myself try to explain what I'm doing to some unseen observer. Especially when I sew.

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