Mosaic Life

Self, I said

I recently noticed that I talk to myself. Okay, when I say noticed, what I mean is that I admitted to myself that I do it (probably aloud), and I am officially more like my mom. Growing up, I could always tell what she was thinking about or upset about because she’d talk to herself about it. And now I do it.

Usually it’s not like, a full-on confession or anything. It’s just something like “Seriously, I need more sleep in my life” as I blowdry my hair or “You have GOT to be kidding me” when I get a really messy document to edit (people, if a number has the word “thousand” in it, I guarantee it needs a comma) (Oh, and spellcheck) right before lunch that needs to be finished pronto. Oh, and instead of cursing, I say shizzle. As in, “Shizzle! There are maiden names reoccuring in my family tree!” You get the idea.

I talk to my cat as well. I guess that’s not really talking to myself, except that Monster is highly unlikely to answer or defend himself when I say “SHUT UP, I get it, you’re starving to death and that dry food in your bowl is inedible” or “Why did you push that glass off the counter? Huh? Why? Did you think the carpet needed grape juice on it? I’m locking you in the bedroom, freaking cat” or “What a sweet kitty you are. Now wake up!”