Voices In My Head

Yadda yadda yadda yack yack. My Master's program involves online discussions with other students. I have a feeling I'm being the jabbermouth of the group; they're probably all sick of seeing my profile picture pop up beside yet another post. And sometimes, I get really sick of hearing myself talk. Yes, I do hear it, even when I don't speak it out loud - I say in my head as I type. Does that mean I'm talking to myself? You bet it does.

It can be inconvenient, being a verbal thinker. Because there's always this voice jabbering on in my head, outside input can sometimes come into conflict with it. I can only have one conversation at a time, and because most of what I do involves having a conversation with myself, I can't necessarily talk to someone else at the same time. Or even just listen to them without needing to respond. Several members of my family are very fond of listening to audiobooks, but I usually ask them to turn off the book when I'm around. I don't even have to be following the story; having that voice generating words, and sending them out into the room, where they get into my ears and then brain and mess with my thought processes, is more than I can stand. It's like having a little kid tugging on your sleeve, going "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!" Doesn't make for very good cake-baking, that.

So I'm actually not a very good multi-tasker, when it comes to doing anything that requires thought. If the tasks are brainless, though, I can easily talk and work at the same time. In fact, then I need some verbal input - which is why I don't do things like knitting very much, because there isn't enough interesting jabber involved with it. "Knit - purl - knit - knit-two-together - increase one - knit - purl" does not make for very scintillating conversation. So whatever knitting I do do is usually plain garter stitch, or stockinette stitch in the round; when the thought process becomes "knitknitknitknitknit" I can tune it out and get other input, like the aforementioned audiobooks. I once lost a whole chunk of "Bleak House", though, because I had to turn a heel; by the time I was able to pay attention to the audio voice again, I had no idea if we were talking about Esther Summerson, Lady Dedlock, or the dastardly Mr Tulkinghorn.

Steve can't understand why I have these issues at all. He says his head is stuffed with fluff, and for the most part he thinks woolly cottony thoughts. Mumblemumblefluffedy. He's very restful to have around.

Life, the Universe, and Voices in My Head. I do wish I'd shut up sometimes.