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My mom reminded me recently that I used to talk myself to sleep. She says she would say goodnight, leave my room and almost immediately hear me telling myself stories, rhyming words, spelling anything and everything I could, laughing when I knew I was wrong.

I only vaguely remember that. What I can remember was demanding the door be left open, just a crack, so I could hear the rest of my family settle down. Through our shared bathroom I could hear my oldest sister on the phone, hear her petering around her bedroom doing whatever it was that teenage girls did long into the night. Across the hall I could faintly hear radio disney coming from my little brothers room, recognize the repetitive beat of "The Hamster Dance" that lulled Michael to sleep immediately but kept me up for hours. Downstairs, my parents talked quietly or my dad's keyboard clacked, working on what I could only assume was extremely pressing and important work that was changing the world. My mom turned pages in the office that shared a wall with my bedroom. I counted as high as I could, trying to time my yawns with numbers that ended in two. 

As I got older, the sounds changed. Kristin went to college, and the mechanical whirr of her blow dryer was replaced with a faint banging coming from the loose screen on her window. Radio disney turned to ESPN radio, recounting the night's basketball games in detail regardless of the fact that Michael was long asleep.  My mom read later and later into the night, and my dad's closed door shut out the sounds of his TV shows. The family dog walked around, settling onto the couch for an hour, then on the stairs for a while, until finally all I could hear was the clinking of her collar as she roamed around the downstairs. I must have stopped talking myself to sleep, because at some point I realized that my quiet house was entirely too large and entirely too silent and  sleep was entirely not an option. 

At some point, I stopped talking myself to sleep and instead turned towards an endless inwards narrative. When you're young, you can talk to yourself without sounding too crazy. But if that was the only change, we'd all be better off.

It seems like when you're ten, things are just...less crazy in general. Before braces and hair product cure you of your awkward phase and wine coolers and pretty glass pipes rob you of your innocence, you're capable of seeing things with more clarity. Whoever said that ignorance is bliss was on to something. 

But the fact is, we all grow up. Some of us slower than others, if the sounds of mario cart coming from down the hall are any indication. We're going to have to get a degree, or several, and find a job. Make decisions that will affect more than wardrobe or our Saturday night. We can't just talk ourselves to sleep forever. But sometimes, when i'm not paying attention, i'll catch my lips moving, silently verbalizing my thoughts.