Friday, January 19

talking to one's self

I am my own imaginary friend.

There are moments when I catch myself talking to the floor about some situation that I once was in … maybe I’m playing the situation out better. That comeback that must have been better than the crap I came up with at the time. Or some future conversation I could be in. ‘could’ being the operative word. It’s all bloody fantasy. Gets me into trouble sometimes.

Well, it’s a little embarrassing. Car parks always undo me. I’ll be happily muttering to myself thinking I’m all alone then I’ll look up and catch eyes with some husband sitting in his car waiting for some wife to finish work so he can drive her home talking about the nutter who works in the nut-house. Name tag swinging around my neck as bounce up to my car, I keep on bouncing to the song that I’d been singing the whole time … no not talking to myself – singing!

Of course if that bastard reckons I’m picking up habits from work that’s his bloody problem.

photo - Nadine on her wedding day drinking champagne

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