It was ok when the guy in the mirror started talking to me. I could handle that, it almost made sense. He was me, after all. It was just my overactive imagination providing a visual component to my internal dialogue. Everybody gets that, right? Perfectly normal, nothing to worry about.

Then other things started joining in.

People on TV. Again, not so bad – old people regularly have conversations with the TV, although they were usually a bit more one-sided. But at least I could change channel when I didn’t want to talk to them.

The dog on Rex’s can of food. He was quite the raconteur, though. I didn’t mind him so much. For some reason he spoke with a Brooklyn accent, but I never did ask him where he was from or how he wound up being the dog on a tin of Pedigree Doggie Nosh. Rex himself never spoke to me.

I got quite freaked out by my morning coffee talking to me. That was just plain odd, and I got some strange looks at Starbucks. The screams it made as I slurped at it almost put me off.