Sane person of a solitary nature.

"She talked to herself often, a habit of sane persons of a solitary nature."
~~ Truman Capote

Once, when I was a young Nikki, my father walked past my bedroom and heard the chattering of many voices.

He asked Mom if I had friends over and she shook her head, to which he then inquired who the hell was in my room with me, concerned about his precious youngest child.

“It’s just her playing with her Barbies,” Mom answered, proud that her daughter was so brilliantly imaginative and creative.*

Puzzled, my dad peeked in on me, and sure enough there I was happy as a clam in my imagination. I always gave my toys different voices as I played, and I could sit there for hours concocting story lines for them.

I guess you could say that I was talking to myself - something I still do, which I realized the other morning as I blabbered on about the strawberries I was cutting for my cereal.

{Blogger's clarification: I live alone. And I love - live even - to talk.}

I've always been able to entertain myself, be it lose myself in a book, my journal or just my imagination.

Is that weird? I'd like to think not - well maybe just a little. But I guess all creative people are a bit daft ...

*This is by no means an assumption ... my darling mother has admitted such on several occasions ... and not all of them were at my insisting at gunpoint.