No More Talking to Myself...I Now Have Ernie

Apparently everyone has a problem with me talking to myself. Apparently, my friends think that sort of behavior is peculiar. Since clearly I am one who succumbs to peer pressure, I decided to break my addiction and stop talking to myself. And how has it been? Difficult! Impossible actually.

I tried talking to random strangers but that can be dangerous, especially since I live in Hollywood. And, I tried talking to my family but all they want to talk about is how I need to commit myself to the Hollywood Mental Institution. That’s not fun to talk about. I tried talking to the wall but it didn’t really respond back very often.

So, I decided to go to the store and get a plant. Plants are living things so technically I am talking to something that breathes. Plus, no matter what I talk about, the plant can never move. We had great conversations about everything such as current events, food, and fashion. He even helped resolve a few disputes I was having with my feuding imaginary friends. We talked about everything.

So, I decided that since my plant and I were becoming such good friends, he needed a super duper special name. So after careful consideration, I decided to name it Ernie, after of course my favorite Sesame Street character. Hours after naming it Ernie, my plant wilted up and died. So now I’m stuck talking to the wall, wishing that I had named the high maintenance plant Elmo.

Life is hard.

Yes, I do talk to myself!

On Thursday, I was driving in wall to wall traffic to work. Instead of listening to the boring radio in the morning, I decided to instead entertain myself by having a nice little conversation…with myself. I told jokes and screamed out the punch line. I gossiped about a few of the fools I would encounter at work. I even told a ten minute cleverly contrived story to myself, which consisted of a ghost, a flying cookie and a purple chicken (don’t you wish you were in the car with me?). I was having fun!

All of a sudden, I turned and saw this unnaturally perfect couple starring straight into my Toyota Corolla. Apparently, I hadn’t rolled up my windows while telling my adventurous story and the nosy couple had heard the entire thing. It was obvious that the couple felt sorry for me. I can’t possibly understand why.

So I must ask, why does the world act like those who talk to themselves should be committed to a mental institution? What is so wrong with talking to yourself? I happened to like myself very much and find my conversations with myself intellectually stimulating. No one can make me laugh like I can! If I am my only audience, then I don’t have to worry about offending anyone! And, if I tell a bad joke, then I don’t have to worry about being booed.

To some I may sound crazy and trust me, I totally agree that I have a few screws loose in my lopsided head. But I would probably be even loonier if I didn’t talk to myself. I cannot be the only person in the world who talks to themselves. I just may be the only person who admits it.