Just like when we come out of a matinee and we are unreasonably, but predictably, surprised by the light, we emerge from the winter blinking in the sun. The outdoors is beckoning. The back door was open yesterday afternoon, airing out our stale winter den. Some days are colder than others, but the scent of spring is rapidly dispersing. Mud pies, watering plants(and occasionally cats)with a spider man squirt ring and planting orange seeds with great hopes are all taking place in the outdoors these days.
We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...
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