Thursday, 22 September 2011

Another reason why I don't need to take drugs.

I've been unusually chatty recently... When I say this I don't mean that I usually don't talk because I can hold my own in a life monologue with the best of them, I mean that I seem to be even worse than I usually am. 

I can't decide whether it's because 

A: I've been drinking too much coffee. 
B: A year of living with no one's company but my own is starting to make me crave love. 
C: My happy pills have been giving me an extra kick this week. 

It's probably mix of them all but all I know is that this week I have not been able to shut up. 

I know this to be a fact because I have heard the 'desperate strain' in at least five people's voices as I've been talking to them. 

You know what I mean by the 'desperate strain' right? It's that point in the conversation where the other person's responses to your fascinating tales have a hint of a sigh behind them or a distracted strained response that suggests they stopped listening a while back. 

Usually when I hear this response I wrap up the talking quickly and ask them a question, trying my hardest not to turn it back onto me again for at least ten minutes. 

This week however, I have been hearing this tone but I have not been able to shut up. And it's not even like I've had anything interesting to say! When I have run out of the mundane day to day things of this week like "my index finger just won't stop itching at the moment! I hate it when it does that," I move onto stories about my life from years ago. And not even good ones! They're just as mundane, like "My index finger tends to itch to the point of blistering at least ten times a year and it has been that way since I was eight."

Today I have chewed Line-Manager-Monica's ear off, talking about complete and utter crap. Every time something has come into my head, it's as if my filter has been turned off and I will immediately start talking about it for about 10 minutes. 

Then, when Line-Manager-Monica stops responding I do something that is by far my least favourite thing I do. I laugh at my own jokes. Really loudly. Then scold myself internally for being so horribly and annoyingly rubbish.

If I only did this a few times then I might be okay with it. But there is something about the way I talk that means at the end of almost every sentence I speak, I let out a little puff of laughter. This isn't just when I find something funny, no. This is after every.single.sentence. You can imagine how awkward this is at funerals. 

So this week I have been non stop babbling like I'm a child or I'm high on drugs and although people were reluctantly listening to me, I might as well be talking to myself for all the response I give to my own comments.

I find the laughing at my own comments thing is only 100% acceptable when I am watching something on my own and I crack a joke about it, then laugh and either sigh with sadness that no one was around to hear it or I tweet it. 

Any other time and it's unacceptable for me. It's also something I have not been able to stop doing since I was a teenager. 

In case you wondered why I blogged? Now you know. 

Peace out my lovelies.  

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