I often wonder whether the people around me know that I am talking to myself. Every week I walk home from work deep in conversation with myself, surely I am not the only one who does this? I like to talk politics and to argue my point and to explain my ideas. So many things seem far more clearer once I've aired it in out loud to no one in particular.
I tend to walk around sixth form talking to myself too. I think it's starting to get to the point in which I am unsure whether I'm talking to myself in my head or out loud. I have to stop my self mid thought, and wonder if the poor year 12 walking in front of me has just heard my entire weekend plans and my opinion of Boris Johnson or if in the middle of and English lesson I've listed all the places I'd rather be in the entire world than listen to extreme feminist poems. I think i'm slowly turning into a recluse, the type of person you'd most definitely avoid; she has bright green scarf fluff all over her black skirt and tights, her hair is always some what knotty and to top it all off she talks to herself constantly. I feel like any minute now the sixth form leadership team are going to set up a quarantine around me. Any minute.
I raised this issue with my brother not too long ago, his response: 'you know, it's the first sign of madness, don't you?'. Is it? Is it really? I mean, how can you be sure? Does it just means i'm a bit more of a thinker? Oh God I hope so. 17 and I've already been diagnosed as mad, although I can't say it came as a surprise to my parents.
I think that people use that excuse of 'it's the first sign of madness' to elevate themselves from us mere mortals to seem like they never ever talk to themselves which makes them, by logic, not completely off their rocker. Surely if you don't talk to yourself, there isn't much going on in your brain? That's a bit harsh, but maybe if you do talk to yourself, there is too much gunk in your brain to make much sense of it, so it pours from your mouth uncontrollably like a beautiful waterfall of words into a lagoon of some form of order. I hope it's like that.
I don't know. The more I write this blog post the more I'm realizing that everything we do,say, write, think is just a but muddled until you meet someone or find something to shake it up and sort it out. In my case I need some duct tape over my mouth and an editor.
(came here via a random search on twitter)
ReplyDelete"The more I write this blog post the more I'm realizing that everything we do,say, write, think is just a but muddled"
That really is one of the most intelligent sounding comments I've seen on any blog recently. Although I think you could Study Philosophy and science at Oxford, have your ideas taken apart and rebuilt by an excellent tutor, and then still realise that most of what we say is just nonsense.
Perhaps it's wht we do and enjoy,and the people we meet that mean anything, emotionally to us. We can spend our lives trying to sort out what it all means.
Consider just one word: "love". What does it mean? I think it's safe to say that love for ones parents is a different feeling entirely from romantic love, even 'lustful' love. Then there's the feeling when my 3 yr old son climbs on my lap and asks whether he ought to give me a cuddle. Then there's love of life, maybe the most important of all.
They are all different things, so maybe we need different words for each one. And do we understand, after millenia of human thought, what they will do to our lives? Short answer: No.
Don't worry about talking to yourself. There are more serious things to worry about.
I also think you should rethink the leather trousers. You'd look fab, though finding the right pair can be a quest
Have fun :)
You're the first proper reply I've had to my blog, and thank you so much for that, honestly, from the bottom of my heart.
DeleteThat's really kind of you to say. I'd happily be one of those mythical few to get into Oxford and tear apart 'common knowledge', unfortunately it's not quite my forte - the whole education fandango. I procrastinate immensely, and also think that Sixth Form grades will not determine the rest of my life - which is the impression my school gives. Although the idea of cutting up ideas and learning the origins of them blows my brains out. In the best kind of way.
I think love and appreciation for something should be completely different things. Too often I merge the lines. I'm guilty of shouting at David Attenborough's nature documentaries, 'OH I LOVE THAT TINY BABY PENGUIN!' every single time they come on to screen. In reality I don't, I have no reason to, they're beautiful an' all, but seriously. I say love far too often, not to the right people, and without deep rooted meaning. It's almost rendered 'love' simplistic and silly, and I think I can say it almost pole opposite too: Love is mega scary, risky, exciting, wholesome. Trying to find the right kind for the right situation is just the difficult part.
I'd agree that the love of life is the most important, maybe it's the one which is the most fragile and the one we tend to take for granted and disregard. I hope to never lose that love, that love of life.
Leather trousers, however, I think are a guilty pleasure. I will buy them. I have to. It's probably on my imaginary bucket list I have tucked away in the back of my mind; leather trousers, learn the single ladies dance and read more.
Anyway, thank you, and have a lovely day.