Are You Talkin’ To Me?

I’ve caught myself muttering aloud, to no one anywhere within earshot. Initially alarmed by my new ‘old’ thing, I’ve grown to love these spirited conversations with the woman I’ve become. My alter ego is spongier, no longer penetrated by sharp edges. With a lifetime of perspective absorbed into her soft, porous surface, water rolls right off her back.

I’m proud to introduce you to my greatest cheerleader, ME!

⭐ Indica high praise gets my tail wagging. “Who’s a good girl,” she softly yips. High-fiving my commitment to stay vertical while performing the most mundane multi-tasks (aka, trying to remember what I was doing in the first place), is her superpower.

⭐ She stares at me, wounded, whenever I call myself stupid. Then reaching over, playfully slugs me in the arm. “You’re not stupid,” she says, “you just did a stupid thing.”

⭐ When my mind creeps back to a cringe-worthy memory that shoulda been sleepin’ with the fishes, she yells, “Fuggedaboutit” in an award-winning Tony Soprano accent.

⭐ The moment Mom-guilt rears its ugly head, she reminds me I did the best I could, with what I had, at that time.

⭐ She’s not as confused as most when I start the conversation in the middle of a story. She was privy to the first half that played out in my head. (*see muttering aloud).

⭐ She jokes how a body should age slower, because it’s easier to be horrified a little bit each day.

⭐ In my own unbiased opinion, my alter ego is fucking hilarious. She lifts me up, talks me down, and dances like no one’s watching. So if you see me slyly muttering to myself, trust I’m in good company!

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