no inner monologue

A condition worsened by my association with MNS (she's not a disease).

Here's how things went:

I'm sitting in the box office, finalizing a middle-aged woman's order
Woman: I love your tatoo. My daughter is trying to become a tatoo artist. She draws a lot.
IPJ: Really? I would love to be a tatoo artist. It's an interesting experience that would be fun to share with people but, unfortunately I can't draw at all. I'm also very interseted in piercings and body modification. Piercing (her tickets begin to print) would be my alternate choice to tatooing but most of the piercers I've talked to starting piercing things when they were kids, using sewing needles and things like that but I'm not quite that gung-ho on it.
Woman (slightly uncomfortable): Uh huh.
IPJ: I just think it's fun. Both things release endorphines in your body, which make it a pleasureable experience. Here are your tickets. Remember we don't offer refunds or exchanges.
Woman (still uncomfortable): Have a nice life!

When did I become the crazy person? Later on in the day I explained my artistic aesthetic to another patron, complete with recent examples, and how it differs from Rennie Harris' (who has an upcoming show at the theater). This was a long conversation and she wasn't even buying tickets. She just had some general questions. What's wrong with me?

Maybe I'm just lonely.