It seems that I was born with foot in mouth disease. The colloquial version, I like to think. When I was a wee toddler my grandmother nicknamed me the chatterbox, because apparently I had a wind up mouth. Here I am, at my third decade, and I still haven't soldered the wind up into the off position or developed a well functioning pause button. I catch myself going on into tangents and exhausting ears way too often, although in my advanced age I at least have found self recognition... the first step!
I talk to speak my mind. I talk to speak someone else's mind. I talk to fill in the spaces within a conversation and I talk to create space within a conversation. If no one intercedes with a comment or sentence fragment, then I could very well embarrassingly carry on until the next full moon and answer myself too.
My next project should be to collaborate with one of our brilliant israeli high tech companies to come up with an electric stimulator that buzzes me when I've exceeded the normal period of singleperson led conversation. I am so embarrassing to myself it's ridiculous.
It's not that I don't enjoy listening. I do. Very much. And I'm very interested I l in hearing out what most people have to say. I love conversation, but let the pause go on for too long and I pick up the slack filling in the gaps within the next millisecond and continuing until my lips are otherwise occupied or I get called on it. Most of the time I like tucking in for a good listen and I'm a pretty decent facilitative listener, but when I get going, my mouth is on turbo.
Next: project shawna takes a breath...
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3 comments:
Shawna must be bound and gagged!
I found a a better way... either entrance me with your brilliant words and I'll listen in rapture, or just put me on a bike with my heartrate at a million and I will completely be soundless.
Since I am always a man of brilliance the first option should be no issue for me :P
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