I engage in a lot of self-dialogue. It took me ages to even realize it was happening. My friends were the ones who pointed it out, and now that I’m aware of it, I’m a bit unsettled. I find myself chatting away as I stroll down the street, sit at my desk, and even while I shop. Heck, I practically host a one-man talk show while on the toilet.

I guess it has its perks. Vocalizing my thoughts helps me bring clarity to what’s happening in my head. It aids my concentration and helps me navigate the world around me. Admittedly, it also makes me look bat-shit insane, but hey, since I probably am, that’s a fair exchange.

But why is it assumed that talking to yourself is a sign of madness? If I’m jabbering away, folks automatically peg me as a candidate for the loony bin. They liken me to Gollum from Lord of the Rings, coveting my “precious.”

It’s not fair. Why can’t I just be my own cheerleader?

Thankfully, I’ve devised a plan to make my “me parties” seem less bizarre. The idea struck me while binge-watching Looney Tunes. In one episode, Bugs Bunny was conversing with a plant to hasten its growth.

This got me thinking about all the cartoons, sitcoms, and even ads that toy with this notion. Does talking to a plant actually expedite its growth? Who cares. All I know is, culturally and socially, it’s more acceptable to chat up a plant than it is to converse with yourself.

So now, whenever I leave my house, I carry a potted plant. It’s an Aloe vera, and her name is Sapniqua. When people hear me gabbing away, they’ll now assume it’s with Sapniqua, and they’ll know I’m not bonkers. Or, well, they’ll know I’m less bonkers.

This arrangement is a win-win. Sapniqua gets the benefit of accelerated growth, a theory supported by many scientists and even the MythBusters crew. When you break it down, the logic is sound. Plants need carbon dioxide to flourish, and when you talk to them, you breathe out carbon dioxide—fulfilling their needs.

Of course, I’m aware it’s not quite that straightforward. Sapniqua’s growth will hinge on numerous factors and conditions. I’ll need to be extremely careful with her.

It’ll be akin to dating her. I’ll need to check in on her, ensure her safety, and shower her with attention. Oh, and I’ll also have to quit talking to the fern next door.

Some may find this peculiar, but let’s not forget I’m not the first person to be overly affectionate with a plant. Hippies have been hugging trees since the ’60s.

Here’s hoping Sapniqua returns the affection. It’d be heartbreaking if she hated me. I mean, what if she prefers to be alone? It’s like the old riddle: if a tree falls in the forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it still want somebody to talk to?

If we get in a fight, is it taboo to buy flowers for my flowers?

As you can see, dating a plant is uncharted territory for me. When it comes to being a plant lover, I’m stumped. It’s a deeply-rooted issue. Okay, fine, I’ll stop with the puns before this grows out of proportion, and I bark up the wrong tree.

Wish me luck. I’d knock on wood, but it might be seen as an act of assault.