Talking to myself


The other day I was getting up from my office desk to get an eleventh cup of coffee while muttering to myself.  Just as I got to my office door, a co-worker passed by and glanced at me, and I was pretty sure she could see my lips moving.  Embarrassed, I laughed explosively.  “I was talking to myself,” I said to her as we walked down the hall, “and you caught me.  I’ve always been afraid that this might happen.”



She laughed.  She’s a cool one, very wry.  “Loren,” she said, “you are always talking to yourself.”


O dear me.


Yes, I suppose I am.  I talk to myself during the entire walk to work, which is anywhere from fifteen to thirty minutes.  I know I wave my arms when I talk, too; I’ve caught myself doing it.


It’s useful.  I recite information, and list things to myself, and practice difficult office conversations, and tell myself jokes, and run the my day’s agenda.  I sing, and I pray (which is especially interesting, given that I’m mostly an atheist).  I have conversations with Partner, although (obviously) he isn’t there to speak for himself.  I recite poetry. 



Obviously I am losing it.  It’s getting worse; I used to pretend that people didn’t notice, but I can’t make that assumption anymore.  I am a crazy old geezer who talks to himself, that’s all.



But maybe it’s useful.  Most of the people in the office are under forty years old; a good percentage are under thirty.  They’re wary of old folks.



Maybe I’ll start muttering to myself even more than I do now.


If it alarms them: good.   Anything to keep them off-balance.



About Loren Williams
Gay, partnered, living in Providence, working at a local university. Loves: books, movies, TV. Comments and recriminations can be sent to

One Response to Talking to myself

  1. Laughing…as I also talk to myself at work

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