I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself

Sometimes when I'm alone, I have conversations (arguments?) with myself.
Me: I just don’t know what to do with myself.

Me: Oh really, Yersa? That’s quite the poetic, dramatic sing-songy thought.

Me: I just don’t know what to do with my time. I’m so lonesome for you, it’s a crime.

Me: Yersa! Lock it up! You are a strong independent woman and you do NOT need someone around to keep you company. Snap out of it.

Me: But I’m so used to doooo-iiiing everything with you. Plan-niiiiiing everything for two.

Me: Look at yourself. You’re sitting on the bed in your underwear watching YouTube videos. Go outside and live, for chrissake.

Me: Oh, I need your sweet love to beat all the pain.

Me: That doesn’t even make sense.

Me: Like a summer rose.

Me: Stop.

Me: It needs the sun and rain.

Me: No. Please. Not the Cameron Diaz version.

Me: Oh yes. The Cameron Diaz version.

Me: Lord help us.