I talk to inanimate objects....and I got caught.

I know that it's pretty normal to, you know, talk to yourself and what not. It's what most people do when they think to themselves, but really...I don't just talk to myself...I have to talk to something.

And the time I got caught for talking, I wasn't even thinking about anything...which makes it a hundred times worse because it just makes me more of weirdo in their eyes....

I noticed this strange habit of mine just recently, (which, now that I think about it, adds to the mystery of why the people around me haven't institutionalized me yet), when I was folding laundry. At home, being the lazy person that I am, just lets clothes pile high someplace. We have a swivel chair in the bedroom that I'm sure had never been sat on since we got it. It's main purpose in life at our house? The miscellaneous clothes catcher. And I don't mean just a few curtains here and there, a couple of pairs of pants, and the once-used tee shirt, no, I mean the piled-to-the-brim-oh-my-gosh-this-chair-is-defying-nature kind of thing. Anyway, I was folding some jeans and there were about four of them and while taking them off the hangers, I decided to place them on top of the piled to the heavens chair. (For the record, I had no intention of leaving them there...honest!) My Mom comes peeking in and told me not to put the jeans there as the chair would probably collapse, and I nodded and then without missing a beat, turned back to my folding and then proceeded to apologize to the swivel chair for making it do manual labor without pay.

Yeah...I did that.

I don't know why I did that, but I did. And the sad part is, my Mom caught me doing it.

When I was finally aware that she was still there, I turned to look at her and there she was, just looking at me. I guessed the things running through her mind then...

1. I'm a failure as a Mother
2. I don't know how I managed to raise a girl like her
3. I can't believe that this is my twenty year old daughter

So...yeah, you could probably guess that after that fiasco, I am writing this whole thing, cringing all the while and burrowing deeper and deeper into my pillow fort. (which was well-constructed by the way, since it's still up). Hopefully I could move pass this and be able to look at my Mom in the eye again. (Maybe after about 2....200 more years, maybe?)