Husband tells me from time to time that I’m a much better writer when I write more often.
Thanks, I think.
To be fair, he knows the only way I’ll take a compliment is if it’s hidden somewhere behind an insult.
On New Year’s Day, my mom stayed with the kids and Husband and I went to the outer burbs to run a nice little 5K. Mom kindly said not to rush, so we followed up with a drinkie brunch and a quick trip to a certain store that is known for it’s ridiculous fashion shows that involve very little apparel and, inexplicably, wings. I said I didn’t want to buy anything, but maybe I should pop in and see what’s there because I probably need some more stuff.
Husband heartily agreed, and went even further, using words like “homeless” to describe my current state of affairs. When I stopped guffawing at how hilariously insulting it was, I was momentarily flattered. Eight years of marriage, and he still cares. I said as much, and he repeated words like “homeless.”
That was a detour. I’m a better writer when I write more.
For those of you who who have met me in person, you know I jabber. I fill my division’s row of cubicles with chatter. When imbibing, I’m a happy chatterer. Occasionally a cartwheeler. I’m strangely quiet for large chunks of time at home. Partly I’m talked out.
Partly I’m comfortable.
Chatterers seem social and friendly and other nice words for “talkative.” We are, I guess, but I think I’m not alone in chat as nervous tick. Not always. Sometimes I’m just chatty. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, so I say everything. Some nights I turn over a choice phrase from earlier in the day/the week/the month/the year/my life and wish I hadn’t said that. I calculate whatever damage must have been inflicted on whatever relationship was involved: friendship, work, family, all of the above. I’m certain it’s a death knell for my career, my social life, my whatever.
When recently asked if I’d limit myself to phone calls or email for all eternity, I chose email. The backspace button is awfully handy.
I don’t worry too much about my marriage. I know I can ask to take back the wrong word, and he’ll let me. I don’t fill the blank space with talk. Don’t need to.
I just last week said no resolutions for 2015. I’m going to be zen, etc. Well, like most Americans, I have now broken my resolution and it’s only the second week of January. I’m going to try to simply do more. More writing. More running. More listening. More breathing. More forgiving.
I’m better at those things when I do them.