I was reading Anne Lamott’s book about writing, Bird by Bird, and was squirmingly enthralled to see myself in print:
‘Left to its own devices, my mind spends much of its time having conversations with people who aren’t there. I walk along defending myself to people, or exchanging repartee with them, or rationalizing my behaviour, or seducing them with gossip, or pretending I’m on their TV talk show or whatever. I speed or run an aging yellow light or don’t come to a full stop, and one nanosecond later am explaining to imaginary cops exactly why I had to do what I did, or insisting that I did not in fact do it.’
I am so relieved to discover that someone else pretends to be on talk shows; I feel outed!