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There is a man on the 4:50 bus who makes conversation with himself. To say that he talks to himself would not be entirely accurate; he has exchanges, makes jokes at his own expense, and laughs at them. The other morning he told himself that he should try to get some rest. Today he was lamenting that he never listened.
I was tired this morning, and annoyed by his chatter. For a moment, when I stood to get off the bus, I considered interrupting his conversation to ask him who he was talking to, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel and unfair, and I was afraid that any comment would have been motivated by self-loathing as much as anything. I live alone, after all, and sometimes I make small talk with myself while cooking dinner or getting ready for the day. I hope I won't be taking those conversations out in public anytime soon, but I suppose you never know. Sometimes you need to hear your own voice just to make sure it hasn't been lost.
I was tired this morning, and annoyed by his chatter. For a moment, when I stood to get off the bus, I considered interrupting his conversation to ask him who he was talking to, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel and unfair, and I was afraid that any comment would have been motivated by self-loathing as much as anything. I live alone, after all, and sometimes I make small talk with myself while cooking dinner or getting ready for the day. I hope I won't be taking those conversations out in public anytime soon, but I suppose you never know. Sometimes you need to hear your own voice just to make sure it hasn't been lost.