I talk to myself.
I didn’t always do this but in recent years I seem to have found quite a bit to say to myself. Most of it is very harsh like “nitwit where did you leave your damn glasses.” Of course, like most people, I used to have these conversations inside my head. Now they are leaking out. It is sort of inaccurate to call them conversations though, because I rarely answer myself.
I should explain though that I am alone in my office, so there is no one to say “there’s that idiot talking to himself again.”
Some people think you are nutty if you talk to yourself. And while I personally draw the line at talking to myself in public, I think it is perfectly rational. In fact, I call it Oral Blogging. After all what is the difference between saying something no one else is listening to, and writing something no one will ever read? When I see some guy standing on the corner ranting away, I say “oops, there’s another Oral Blogger.”
And no one is listening. They are either talking to some distant, distracted person on their Blue Tooth, or watching re-runs of The Office on their IPod and probably think that you, babbling away, are doing the same.
I also talk to inanimate objects. I guess it would be more accurate to say I swear at inanimate objects. I suppose this is some form of displacement since I don’t have the guts to swear at the animate objects that really piss me off. My computer is the chief recipient of this form of abuse; although I am not convinced it is inanimate.
The other day, I was really giving it to the damn thing because it froze up while sending a four page order form I had spent the last half hour filling out.
My wife walked in at this awkward moment, and said “when you’re retired and we are sharing this space, you can’t yell at your computer like that, it makes me think you are mad at me.” I guess she subscribes to the displacement theory.
She should be used to this though. I have always sworn at inanimate objects particularly those that refuse to bend to my will while I am trying to execute some household chore.
Years ago, when my son was little, he used to “help me” on projects with his little Fisher Price hammer and electric drill. I knew it was time to zip my lip when I observed him one day hammering away while saying “shit,shit,shit” with each stroke.
Right now though I am going for the trifecta….I am blogging, talking to myself and swearing at the computer..all at the same time. Maybe I am losing my marbles.