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| I used to talk to Cloudy. He was a good listener
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Do you ever talk to yourself?
No, of course not. That would be silly.
See what I mean?
I have been divorced most of my life. After my son left home more than 20 years ago, I have pretty much lived alone. I always had cats and I would ask them what we should have for dinner or comment to them about the feasibility of whatever we happened to be watching together on television. Granted I also sought their advice on more weighty matters such as which car to buy or where to invest my savings.
Although my last cat died about five years ago, I still talk aloud in my empty house sometimes. Verbalizing my thoughts seems to make it easier to find a misplaced phone or appreciate a spectacular sunset. Sometimes I even speak with an appropriate accent such as pulling out a bit of an Irish brogue the other day to comment on “a wee pair of lovely Orioles pecking at the bonnie grass in me yard.”
Today’s technology has spiced up the silence in my home. I can ask questions of Alexa and actually get intelligent answers. I love telling her to time the cookies or put nutmeg on the shopping list. I admit, however, it turns into a shouting match sometimes when she keeps misunderstanding my song request or when she can’t hear my command to turn down the volume.
At the risk of sounding like a crazy old lady, I have accepted my habit of talking to myself and have no plan to stop. But I have been thinking I should be more careful what I say. It is too easy to be overly critical. “What did you do that for? You are such a dunce.” “Look at you, fat slob.” “Clean up this place. It looks like a crime scene.” “You blew it again.”
I need to be the encouraging voice I want to hear. “What a lovely morning!” “Well done. That was a good idea.” “Aha, that looks nice.””You’ve got good taste.” “Praise God. Thank you Jesus.” “Keep it up. It’s working.”