This week, my daughter's away at band camp. I just caught myself talking to myself.
I persist, as a widower still in love with my wife, in refusing new companionship, which perhaps explains my self-mutterings. Am I wrong in my persistence?
Outside opinion on this has varied. Here at home, however, I'm adamant, and my daughter, natural psychologist that she is, appreciates my adamancy as reason enough to concur. Yet when one finds oneself in vocal conversation with oneself, it rather shakes one's certainty.
I post this therapeutically. At least I'm talking to you, and not myself.