Nope. I'm talking to the Dali Lama, to Gabriel Knight and his archangel namesake; I'm asking shamen for the time of day; I'm counseling Hercules through his inadequacy complex. Sometimes you can hear me singing for the poltergeists in offices at night, or arguing with Lucretius about that ridiculous Swerve theory. I try not to bother Jesus--you can't imagine his schedule--but sometimes he talks to me, and Lucifer's a funny, funny guy...just don't get too close. Aliens are hella cool, by the way, and so are dreaming Rastas. All my dead relatives and everybody else's flit through ocassionally to say hi, and then maybe some extraplanar thingy shows up and follows me around for a while. I talk to animals I can't see and flowers before I'll pick one; I explain everything I know to everybody I can imagine, all day long, and most of the night.

But I don't talk to myself. What the fuck is the point of that?

Of course I'm not talking to myself. That would be, you know, what crazy people do. And I'm not crazy. No sirree, I'm completely sane, quite normal.

Of course I'm not talking into an empty phone, pretending that there's someone on the other end answering me, talking to me, caring and listening. Because seriously, who the hell is that needy? Who is so insecure that they need someone to listen to them talk, even if it's actually just an imaginary person?

Oh, I was just moving my lips to some lyrics I was thinking about. It's an awesome song, of course I'd sing along to it. Puh-leeease, have you never reviewed your chemistry notes under your breath, thinking about the structure of aldehydes, ketones and carboxylic acids? It's one of the best ways to study, you know?


Oh good. No one's looking. No one's listening. I can finally continue the conversation I was having. With myself.

Can you blame me for wanting to speak and break the stagnant silence? When I'm sitting alone at home, at just past three in the morning, staring at pages and pages of beautifully written notes, trying to memorise yet another structure, learn just one more date, I can't help but speak out loud sometimes.

Pure determination: "Alright, it's not that complicated. It all works. If sin squared of theta is equal to 1-cos squared of theta, and I know that the length is one, I just have to substitute this in. It'll work."

A bit later, "FUCK. I don't get it. I never will. How the hell did I ever think I could take this class?"

Or, as the desperation sinks in, "God, please. I don't even know if you're up there, if anyone is listening. But please, just help me understand this? I need to pass this exam. I need to do well. Help..."

I suppose it's not talking to myself, really. It's encouraging myself. Keeping myself going.

And the phone calls from no one, you ask? Well. Those are getting me out of an awkward situation, showing others I do understand the foreign language that they think is only theirs to speak, or simply breaking up monotony in a lagging conversation.


But of course, I don't talk to myself. That's only what crazy people do.

Who am I trying to convince? Really? I don't need to convince anyone. I know I'm not crazy...


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