I still talk to myself.

I did it as a child, and I do it today.

The conversations have grown considerably more sophisticated over the years. The arguments, however, have become spectacularly ridiculous. And somehow, I still manage to disagree with myself.

Somewhere along the way, I discovered that not everything about my younger self needed changing. Some things were perfectly fine from the beginning.

And if she could see me now, I imagine she’d fold her arms, give me that familiar look, and say:

“See? I told you there was nothing wrong with talking to yourself.”

And I’d reply, “I know. We’ve discussed this.”