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I keep talking to myself as if im someone else. I don't mean to do it nor am I ever conscious of doing it yet I get into long conversations that I assume were in my head until I get this sort snap in my head, the neurons finally firing and connecting that this is out loud. the worse example was when I was doing dishes and my housemate noticed and recorded me, not out of malicious intent but more to prove to me that I was doing it.

these experiences really made me start to question my sense of self, which reminded me of this place, an obscure little relic of my past, so I figured id log back in and make a post, howdy y'all.

I suppose my question of my self makes a good amount of sense considering how impermanent my identity has been up till now, a name change and a whole new life can do that. sometimes ill give out a fake name, not cause I don't want the person to know me but because thats who I am at that moment. names have become essentially just a formality at this point. I hold my "real" name close to my chest as it has a somewhat special meaning to me, I made it myself after all but even then I feel tied down by it, limited even. to me a name is just what others know me as and if a lot of people know me as different names then all of them are equally "real".

anyway im done, just needed a place to vomit my thoughts, been a while since ive been here.

Nora Alis
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5 6 9 1 1 3 9 1 += 35 += 8

Dear Nora, so it's welcome back to the Oracle Community forum is it, we do miss our old friends. Thank you for your post, well talking to anything or anyone is not necessarily a frequent occurrence in the digital age of a semi-permanent state of head down in either a smartphone or a tablet.

Long may you continue talking to the walls, the window or the kitchen sink, as long as you regularly converse with your housemate as well. As I do it myself, I feel the therapy oozing through my cranial blood vessels, I talk to the political and Chelsea Flower Show commentators on the TV, I frequently ramble through humorous sketches with the furniture and read thoughtfully through the written word with windows and door. Beyond this more confined exchange one can take great succour from talking to trees, plants and animals, as well as saving our fragile planet with extrasensory communication, plus simultaneously offsetting a vitamin D deficiency. They don't generally respond with a loud vocal delivery, but personally I find they also help you get those larger stress bubbles off your chest.

While on my digital 'the age of silence' crusade, I would point that I also still write letters, no not emails letters! to those of a certain age who have not been dragged kicking mutinously into this technology swamped era and who wouldn't know a keyboard from a Scrabble Board. They remain becalmed in life, still able to hold and use a pen. It is also my custom to a drop a single two-sided page of scribble into birthday, christmas, congratulations and sadly more frequently these days condolence cards. Nevertheless, writing is cathartic and the art of handwritten letters filled with heart and soul is dying. This, I would hasten to add is among my soap box subjects for Speakers Corner, eclipsed by climate change and the global application of the permacuture methodology to both cultivation and life cycle. In the absence of a oratorial platform, I, like you, generally bounce a few vocalised ideas off the walls of my garret.

And then we come to names, which are like clothes to be worn for various occasions and situations. We find our parents frequently use our formal given names i.e. Robert or Rosalind especially if we are to be scolded or chastised. Our friendships forged during the school and university era up to the age of 21 usually use a nickname Bobble or Rozz or a derivative of the surname in a team sports environment i.e. Stokesy, Felters, Banksy etc. and our workmates and colleagues in 21st century style most often call us by the shortform of the formal given Bob, Rob or Rosie. In some respects this is like going up to your bathroom to freshen up, a wash and brush up of yesteryear, as our personality shifts according to name we happen to be wearing at the time.

Regards
Redbeck