I talk to myself. Constantly. I don’t know why I do it. If I’m doing a Sudoku, I’ll be counting out a row or a box, and the numbers that are missing I will say out loud. If I get something wrong, I’m bound to hiss, ‘stupid girl’ or ‘idiot’ or even to swear at myself.
I walk around town involuntarily crying out ‘fuck you’ or ‘bastard’ when I remember indignities and insults that I should have dealt with at the time. I make lists out loud to remind myself where I’m going, what I’m doing, and where I’m going after that; I’ll be counting off groceries and stationary supplies on my fingers as I walk into a shop; I’ll count beats and bars out loud in orchestra unless it’s quiet enough that you might hear me.
Honestly, follow me around for a day and you’d begin to think I was mad. You’d see me, talking to my handbag (‘close properly, idiot thing’) or my boots (‘for heaven’s sake’ as I catch the heel on something) or my phone (‘text me back, for goodness’ sake’), or yes, just plain little old me. I don’t know why I do it. Do you do it?