Like many artistic people, I talk to myself. (I am choosing to believe that talking to myself is an artistic trait indicative of a creative mind, as opposed to a sign that I am losing my marbles.) Here is an example of the type of conversation I have with myself about knitting:
SCENE: Home, on the couch, looking at Ravelry on my laptop. A package arrives.
I: Ooh, my order from Tanis Fiber Arts has arrived. What lovely, squishy yarn. I shall wind it right away and cast on a pair of socks to reward myself for finishing all those other socks.
MYSELF: You don’t need any socks. You have lots of socks. You need mittens. Your hands are always cold, plus your rainbow handwarmers have holes in them. You should knit yourself some nice mittens out of that yarn.
ME: I like socks.
I: But this yarn is green. I don’t have any green socks.
MYSELF: Liar. You have those pretty Madeline Tosh socks. They’re green.
I: They’re old socks, and they’re too short for me. I need new green socks.
MYSELF: You do not. Your hands are cold. Knit mittens.
I: (Reasonably) By the time I finished a pair of mittens out of this yarn, winter would be over. I have perfectly serviceable leather gloves. They are warm and nicely lined. I don’t have to knit all of my accessories. I can knit nice mittens later. Besides, I want to try out this sock pattern.
ME: (Without discussing further with I or Myself, casts on socks while they natter on.)
I argue with Myself a lot, especially about knitting. I say things like, “Shouldn’t you be finishing that shawl” and “You can’t wear only one sock, you know” and “You promised that knitted thing to your friend, So-And-So; shouldn’t you be working on that?” Honestly, it’s my hobby; I should be able to knit what I want. It’s hard to get Myself to understand that.
I hope that all of my American readers have a lovely, peaceful Thanksgiving. I hope that all of my non-American readers have a wonderful day!