Should I Stop Talking to Myself?

I seem to be doing that quite a bit lately, talking to myself. Perhaps it is the underweight white noise in the apartment. I’m used to birds and turtles doing it at all hours; dogs barking or worse: snoring; aquariums splashing; the washer and dryer continuously in motion; “beeps” from computers; and at least two TVs on, on different stations, calling to me. That’s home. The apartment in Dallas is my “studio,” and I haven’t quite got it right, yet. Maybe this weekend I’ll record the sounds of home, load them on my laptop, and play them on a loop when I get back.

What was I supposed to be writing about? See, not enough noise to keep me focused. This is why I’m talking to myself. (Cue music!) Who am I, anyway? Am I my resume? That is a picture of a person I don’t know. What does [she] want from me? What should I try to be? Apparently, I am the embodiment of Paul from A Chorus Line right now. And he definitely doesn’t what to know himself. Hmm. Wonder what that means? No. I have not been drinking, although that could be part of the problem. I’ve been learning cool things about Identity. Tahdah! Why do you doubt me? And you thought I was just rambling. Again.

So, the very simple definition of identity: Who you are for yourself. Think on that for a moment.

Notice, I didn’t say who you say you are. Because even the things we don’t say, those things we try to deny, they are part of who we are. We just try to keep them secret. (I whispered that, by the way.) But, identity is who you are for yourself, not for anyone else, although you can share. So let’s not hide from ourselves. Be all of yourself for yourself.

Back to the definition of identity: Who you are for yourself. Notice that I didn’t say, who society says you are. Society can’t tell you that you are unless you have already identified. One example from class: If I say I am stupid and someone says to me, “I don’t know why you did that,” I will hear, “You’re so stupid.” The statement wasn’t an accusation; it was as statement about the speaker – notice the “I don’t know.” What They say can’t hurt if you don’t already think it.

So, our assignment this week was a monologue. The source I chose was a chapter from the Gaunlett text, “Giddens, Modernity, and Self-Identity.” We haven’t gone over it yet, but I’m going to post it anyway. Feedback is requested. And again, we only had one page, double-spaced to do this in.

Gran: So, ya mama had a hissy when she caught yall doin it, and now wont talk about? Even though you boys is gonna marry. As I see it, honey, there was probably just as much screwin goin on back in my day as it is now, and was in ya mama’s, it just wasn’t somethin for polite conversation. And ya choices of when, where, how – and who with – was thin back then, probably for the same reason. But you got folks talkin bout it everywhere these days. Just open a magazine or turn on the TV. And the movies today – everybody’s sex life rolled into two hours. Just be happy you got more choices than me and ya mama had. Look at ya Big Daddy. He was crazier an hell, but we stayed together cause them was the rules. But ya mama – three divorces and separated from her live-in playthang. The Pill done that, and all them soaps she always watchin. If she’da had a house full, she’da stayed with ya daddy. Now. These little hot mamas – you know em when ya see em cause theys all dressed the same – they droppin em like flies, and aint nobody wanna get married. Ceptin yall. And you, honey, you can be with anybody you wants, any way you wants and caint nobody say a damn thang. Well, they can, but fuck em; yous grown. Oh, child please; doncha look at yo granny like that. I can say anythang I damn well please. It’s just us. Cides, you hear fuck on the TV, unless yous on one a them stations that bleeps it out, like we don’t know what they said. All I’m sayin, honey, is times done changed. It’s your choice – who you decide to be. Just remember how ya got here, cause I can’t keep remindin ya. And I know ya aint gonna pick up no book. Now, stop frettin bout ya mama. She’ll come round. And get a haircut cause yaz lookin too much like her. So, when ya gonna take ol Gran for a drive in ya fancy lil sports car?

I like this old lady. She is a combination of one of my great-grandmothers, my grandmothers, a couple of aunts, and my mother. All in that little piece? Well, I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that I have to edit my writing way down to fit the limits of the assignment, so there’s plenty of her on the cutting room floor.

So, in answer to my original question: Should I stop talking to myself? The answer is no. It is performative. It reminds me of who I am. It is reflexive. Besides, it drowns out the Others’ voices.

Quote for the day: Know thyself. ancient Greek aphorism