Mad as a Hatter

I was talking to myself while waiting for my mom to pick me up from work yesterday, and I thought about how that is generally frowned upon in society. Which inspired the following poem:

They say that the first sign of madness is talking to yourself.
In that case, I've been mad as a hatter for years.
Is that the reason we invented the status, LiveJournal, and blogs?
With these, don't you feel like you have some one else's ears?


I write letters, and checklists and journals and...I write to myself.
When no one can hear, I argue both sides, and sometimes I talk with the moon.
I tell myself not to cry, not to get angry, that I am capable of passing that test.
Why does that have to make me a crazy loon?


It's not really as uncommon as you think:
Actors tell themselves to breathe before going on stage,
Kids play games and talk with imaginary friends,
why does this equal crazy when we age?


If talking to yourself is the first step toward going insane,
what's the second step? I'm driving down that lane!

If you're a member of my small faithful blog audience, I didn't post in May due to finals (and I thought you needed a break after a month of my blabbering) but hopefully I will be back to normal semi-weekly blogging through the summer.