The Biggest Convo of Life

It's not too often that something pops into my head worth putting down on paper, but what comes out of my mouth is often of far more use. Too many in the past have suggested that certain forms of mental activity are considered symptoms of psychosis, as well as a danger to the rest of the world. I, on the other hand, would argue that this specific "line of work" is actually to the benefit of all, especially my roommate. I am referring to...talking to myself!

I'm sure we've all done it at some point. You know that crazy guy who always sits across from you on the skytrain, muttering about the birds and what will happen when they realize their own intelligence, as he spits into an old tuque? As much as we want to sit around and judge him, we've all been in the same place at some point. Picture this: you're in Aeropostale trying on a sweater, and you know you're meeting your sweetie in exactly 47 minutes for THE BIG CONVERSATION (dun dun dun). Will he want to continue the way things are going? Move forward? Take a step back? Break up altogether?! But then you breathe and remember, "Oh yeah, I still have 46 and a half minutes to get this perfect." And so you begin. "Well, you see, Petie, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," (throw in the hair twirl) "and the thing is..." (loooong, dramatic pause) "...I care about you way more than my dumb words could ever say! In fact, I don't know how I'd ever go on living if you decided to just leave me here like this!" (Enter my good friend, Mr. Desperation) "I need you Petie! Not just for now, but for forever!" (Here come the waterworks) "Don't l-l-leave m-m-me like this!" (And cue frustration). "No no no! Dumb me! DUMB ME! Because THAT won't scare him away! Gosh, WHY DO I HAVE TO BE SO DUMB?!" And it's in that moment that you realize you're no longer having a fanciful monologue in your head, but are in fact screaming out your hopes and dreams of a life with Petie to the entire store. We've all been there. Or, at least, that's been my experience.

So what led to this onslaught of horribly thought out blabberings directed at my defenseless keyboard? As I was sitting on fb (facebook, for the under-informed) and desperately seeking out the meaning of life through no-thought-required wall posts and less than satisfactory chat conversations, I realized that for the last hour I had been laying on an assault of mind-blowing proportion. My roomie (her name is Stephanie, you will come to know her very well) was lying on the floor, completely helpless, as she was mercilessly exposed to the inner workings of my mind via talking to myself. And it's not enough that I just let slip out whatever first comes to mind. No, of course not. I'm far too obnoxious for that. I'm also the kind of person who sits on her laptop, headphones in with the rest of the world tuned out, watching Gilmore Girls and laughing and giggling like crazy...while other people sit in the room and have no clue what has brought on my newest psychotic episode (sidenote: I have a horribly ridiculous laugh that makes you wonder if I'm choking, hyperventilating, or just never learned how to laugh at all. But this will all be covered in more detail at a later date).

So, in summary, I probably do have mental issues. However, the most important part of the entire talking-to-myself process is learning to be ok with myself...no matter what comes through my scattered, mess of a head and out my mouth.