Posted by: dougery | September 23, 2011

I Couldn’t Help But Overhear What That Ghost Had to Say…

I am a poor conversationalist. I am much more comfortable writing, where I can go back and delete what I have just written, rearrange and reorder, modify and adjust as much as I want before publishing or sending my words out there. Writing is like wandering a city where you are drawing the street map as you go. Don’t like the garbage strewn, rat infested dark alley you’ve stumbled down? Just turn the map and shake it like an Etch-a-Sketch and the garbage will smell like roses, the rats will have little jackets and be serving hors d’oeuvre and the alley, well, it’ll still be dark because I tend to sunburn, sorry.

But a conversation… that’s more like being in that same city only navigating it in a speeding cab where you and driver don’t share the same language. All these left and right turns, some of them in the exact opposite direction you’d like to progress. There have been many many occasions where I have been in a conversation where I’ve suddenly found myself arguing or expressing an opinion that I never even had up until that moment. Which is only slightly better than my default mode where I take too long to process something that is said and if you look very closely you can see that my pupils have metamorphed into spinning rainbows of death. Apparently my operating system is a Mac.

So apologies to all of you who have had to suffer the unfortunate position of speaking to me at, say, a dinner gathering. Assuming the gathering had no booze that is. Like 103% of the population, I do tend to loosen up a bit after a whiskey. It’s less that I’m overly concerned with what I have to say and am afraid i’ll say the wrong thing, no, just the opposite. My mind actively tries to sabotage my brain. That is until booze steps in and reminds them that they have very nearly one in the same function. Whereas my brain is more focused on keeping me alive, properly nourished and relatively happy, my mind’s main goal is to analyze everything, over and over again, often times to the direct detriment of those things my brain has been trying to secure. So booze drops in and nudges my brain, causally reminding it that I have it pretty sweet while doing that ‘mom whistle’ thing where you blow a shriek of air through two fingers at my mind, who then reluctantly decides that maybe not everyone wants to discuss the episode of Mr. Show with the ‘Mom ‘n Pop’ porno shop for 45 minutes.

So, I guess I’ll finish this off with a cat gif because why the hell not.

whosoever shall be found Without the soul for getting down?


  1. You know, I’ve lately been told that I am not as bad at interpersonal communication as I think I am. I expect that that’s the case with you, as well.

    Love the thriller cat.

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