I know I have lived alone since the end of summer 2005 when my baby left for college, so it is to be expected that my social skills might grow a bit rusty. People grow eccentric and "dreamy" living alone if they are not careful. Because no one is around to care, I talk to the animals, cuss at inanimate objects (flat tires for instance), and argue with myself. In fact, I have to be careful at the grocery store. Sometimes I catch myself speaking aloud there. It is incredibly embarrassing! I might be deep into a replay of a real and remembered conversation, performing edits. You know - what you wish you had said? I must appear so crazy and pathetic.
I saw a poor elderly person just the other day walking along, cussing, shaking her head, having a terrible dispute with either people only she could see, or people she only remembers, like I do. She is who I am devolving into, I guess. (Note to self: in the near future, when I am routinely speaking to myself in public, make absolutely certain to be well dressed before I leave home - far better than I usually dress now. Talking out loud to invisible people while dressed like a bag lady paints such an entirely unfortunate picture.)
So, yesterday, I am in fact talking to real person, Dan the builder of my new house, going over a host of final details: does this door open to the left and in, and what shelves do I want in this closet. So, already I am in the part of my brain that requires imagination and possibilities, and in that stream of consciousness, I was saying the goddamnest idiot stuff! Whatever came into my mind, I said out loud. Oh my GOD. I am certain Dan and the other guys who heard it all are convinced I am bat-shit crazy. I do not know much about bat shit, but it must be the worst sort of crazy an old woman can be.
As I was walking away from the house, I wanted to turn around and shout back to those men, "I'm not really bat-shit crazy! You just caught me at a bad time of the morning!" Luckily for me, I was able to slam a halt on that impulse. Oh my God.
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I talk to myself, well not so much to myself,(or I'd be bat-shit crazy) but to my feet, my brain and whatever part of my body might be misbehaving. My peripheral neuropathy is trying to make me think that my right foot is walking on a large jello-filled zip lock bag. I've checked often. It's not. I've tried countless times to explain to my brain that there is nothing structurally wrong with the foot, but my brain will have none of it. So I am constantly reminding the gray mass in my skull.
I find myself constantly reassuring myself, or telling me to pay attention to what I'm doing. Since just thinking it doesn't always do the trick, I have to say it out loud.
It doesn't matter where I am. last week I've got a full grocery cart at the back of my car, and I'm muttering to myself, apparently, out loud. A lovely lady comes up to me and says, "I saw you in the store, and I was wondering if I could help you unload your cart."
Sadly, my answer was, "yes."
So, being bat-shit-crazy can be a good thing. Sometimes an angel will show up.
Tonight I had an epiphany. I'm going to call this condition, "Situational Tourettes Syndrome." We just can't keep from vocalizing. Maybe it's a side effect of beings of solitude
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