It’s always an interesting experience to be sitting in the train staring out the window lost in my own thoughts only to finally look around and see half the people in the rail car have been staring at you.
I used to do this all the time in the privacy of my own home and in public, it was reserved to a slight whisper with my lips barely moving. But apparently I’m now talking to myself out loud and it’s noticable even to someone wearing those nifty noise cancelling headphones.
And I don’t seem to have a set criteria for discussions with myself either because they tend to wander around between the deeply philosophical or religious to the doctrines of failed governments to the consistency, color and smell of yak dung (which is actually different from cow and buffalo dung, but not many people know this).
Add to this issue, I’ve taken to walking up and down the place for no particular reason while I’m thinking… and talking to myself. I used to do this all the time at home as well, but now it’s slowly creeping to the workplace. Very awkward to explain to someone why I just went into the break room, without my mug, and return only ten seconds later without any souvenirs to show that I’ve been there in the first place. Or take a quick trip downstairs and return after entering the lobby without so much as putting my head out the front entrance.
And I’ve taken to skipping…
That’s right, just skipping. Here I am walking, while thinking and talking to myself, and then for no apparent reason, I’m flying off one leg. I seem to recall doing this when I was around 5 or 6, but it’s quite odd indeed when a 27-year-old does it out of the blue. And a bit disturbing as well, I imagine. Luckily I haven’t done this in public yet due to some overwhelming sense of embarrassment/self preservation as I don’t feel like being escorted out of the building.
Just yesterday, I (re)discovered another problem that seems to have been with me for many years, but have become more and more pronounced lately. I can’t remember where I put bloody everything.
It may be the increased stress from the day job, the work load from my night job or the fact that most of the people I associate have the intellectual curiosity of sperm. I seem to be starved for some stimulating discourse lately to the point where I’d rather talk to myself at every opportunity. I’m sure I’m not the only one with this problem, but it’s rather inconvenient when these episodes of teleportation to dreamland shed a questionable light on my sanity.