Meandering Messaging

I can’t say I’m much of a conversationalist.  I’ve always been more of an observer than a talker.  An only child growing up, the oldest one of the cousins, I was more often than not the lone child in a roomful of adults.  Listening became more comfortable than speaking.  And while I’m not a total introvert, going out on a limb and actually starting a conversation isn’t first nature to me.   It is what it is, but I honestly don’t like it. Something to work on I suppose.

The conversations I have at home, morning and night, often follow similar themes… How did you sleep?  How was your day?  What do you want for dinner?  I almost know them by rote. Kiddie ones go from why we can’t have milkshakes for dinner to all things Disney to how monsters are not going to fly through the windows at night.  The ones at work revolve around money and payments and bills and contracts and reports.  And while all these conversations are challenging in their own ways (do I really want to decide what’s for dinner? how long will it take to get through that monsters are not real? where is that contract and why is payment being held up?)  sometimes I’m ready to check out.  It just seems like too much work;  the idea of explaining myself too mentally taxing after 8 hours of sleep or too daunting after 8 hours at work.

Written conversations are a different thing entirely.  This is where I think our true selves come out.  At least my true self does.  My good friend Tamye and I are also co-workers, and while our offices are across the reception area from each other, we have meandering conversations that span our 8+ hours on the job.  The wonders of instant messaging.  It’s not unusual to hear the clickety clack of our fingers on our keyboards and then hear laughter a few seconds later.

Sometimes I wonder how we’d get through the day without our little chats… our venting, our planning, our creating, our joking.  It’s free therapy.  It’s fun therapy.   It’s needed therapy.  It’s where we decide that we need Mexican food for lunch and then go on to bemoan the fact that we’ve yet to use our treadmills like we said we would; it’s where we vent about our crazy families; it’s where we plan work meetings; it’s where we plan weddings and afternoons of canning jam; it’s where we crack ourselves with our wit and sarcasm, and wonder if anyone else thinks we’re as hilarious as we do. It feels like these conversations are the only place where someone gets me because I get her.

On good days our little conversations are where we can be the rock stars we are in our heads.  On other days it’s where we can escape the fact that we feel like we are each holding up our own worlds, both at home and at work.  If we don’t crack ourselves up just a little bit and let some of the steam go we’ll simply crack under the pressure.

We joke about starting a blog of just our conversations.  A private one because I can’t imagine anyone else making sense of them or finding them even mildly entertaining.  Truly they border on separate yet interconnecting streams of consciousness.  And though we have never “gone public” with them, I’ve kept a few because they make me laugh and they capture a moment in time like nothing else can.   They satisfy that slice of life memory keeping I crave.

{31 Things with Ali Edwards…A little out of order, but that’s life!}