As a child i saw a lot of television, i still see a lot of television. Back then though, it was a bit too much, it was so bad that i would get home at 2:30 pm take off my school uniform, turn on the TV, and just sit there watching the static. The TV stations didn’t open until 4 pm. I saw this static as little somethings struggling to and from somewheres, that was fun too. A little entertainment before the entertainment. And my dad didn’t help o, or do i say he helped a bit too much. He, my dad, used to wake us up to watch television; on Saturday mornings for WWF on OGTV and Cadbury’s Breakfast Television on NTA, in the early hours of weekdays, when he’s having breakfast and preparing for work, he would wake us up to see Mole and his Friends on NTA Channel 5 this was at 5 am. My mum on the other hand hated the idea, she never bothered to stop it though, not cos she couldn’t, she could, my mum seemed then to hold my dad’s kryptonite. He would huff and puff but mum often had her way. She just decided to let us be, maybe she thought TV was helpful too. But she never liked wresting, and she often yelled at us to stop watching such violence, especially when the steel chair was used or some crazy stuff like that (although i did know that the ‘steel’ was more like foil ). We just laughed and let her understand that the wrestlers were fine, and were play-acting otherwise they would be bloodied and immobile. She never believed us.
Anyway, i ended up most times replaying all i had watched in my head. I did take it far many times. I actually acted it out, i was the main character, supporting act, the extra and indeed the props. One minute i’m doing something serious, next minute i’m in a cartoon. Several instances i entertained myself this way. Every other happening around me was uninteresting. It was obvious that something was not normal about me and eventually, my classmates started calling me over to act out certain cartoon scenes. I made a good living off of it, if you call portions of cakes, meat-pies and soft drinks for my troubles, living.
I have been on this path ever since. Not with the pies and soft drinks sha o. These days, i am often caught by somebody seated beside me or walking close by me talking to myself. You know what i then do? i try to act like i was remembering or singing something. When the onlooker had been convinced and turned away, i scolded myself and said to myself ‘guy, only mad people talk to themselves o’.
At the moment, i am a man who’s constantly trying not to talk to himself, especially in public. I carry around the belief that i am not mentally stable.
But happily, and very happily too, i stumbled on a pic on the internet.
So there i was, teary-eyed. I always thought i was a bit, you know, loco, since its common knowledge that people who have gone bananas are the ones who have conversations with themselves. Even as i type, i am overwhelmed with the fact that i am sane and indeed getting smarter!
I saw this line as well after i decided to make sure i wasn’t infact losing brain cells and did some research.
“Talking to yourself is the preserve of mad men, right? Not according to a new study, which reveals that the seemingly irrational act of chatting to oneself actually improves cognitive function.” – gizmodo.com
Hallelujah people, i am not insane! so please…