I talk incessantly and imagine some may find it cloying. I’m intelligent, well-read, well-educated, upbeat, positive and have had an imperfect, yet interesting life so far. I feel good and well-grounded and at peace with myself and yet my brain constantly feels like a vortex; over-processing and over-analyzing everything.
Upon awakening, my mouth is like a volcano erupting, unleashing verbal lava on anyone within earshot. Sometimes I truly feel for my significant other, who tends to be a quiet soul.
While I am aware of my blabiness, I can’t seem to help it. This is probably why I’m a writer. Writing is an extension of my mouth and a means by which my brain purges itself.
Yes, I am the Princess of Prattle and The Mad Hatter of Chatter. This long-windedness is a serious problem; not for me, but for those that must endure it and out of politeness and respect must bear my lack of silence in silence.
Once on a date, a guy said, “You’re nice, but you’re hyper and you talk too much”. When he asked me out again and I declined by e-mail, he left an angry message on my voice mail complete with expletives, telling me it was my loss. I guess it never occurred to him that he had the personality of a rock, the vocabulary of a potato and was about as boring as a colonoscopy, but he was right, I am a chatterbox and people like us are not for those whose auditory canals are faint of heart.
I am an empath and can often see a person too clearly too quickly and this tends to make some people uncomfortable. Additionally, I have a tendency to be too honest and I find that a lot of people don’t like head-on honesty as they deal better with reality when it kind of veers off to one side.
We all like to think we’re great and the entire world loves us as we are. Nobody wants to believe that they suck at being human or have major flaws in their character, but at this point in life, I’ve become aware that I talk way too much and want control every conversation I enter into, often even interrupting people. Okay, I talk to much. Is that the worst thing in the world? Would people who know me rather I sit there like a bump on a log, mute and non-descript?
I wonder if perhaps there was some cosmic error or glitch in the world’s time continuum and I should have been born back in the days of Aristotle, Socrates and Plato, when mankind first became fully aware of the infinite possibilities of human intelligence and explored it by simply sitting down and talking. How I’d love to go back in time and share a glass of wine on the veranda at one of the first organized academies of intellectual thought.
I talk too much because I read too much and experience life in a deep way. I’m an intellectual and my brain is like a micro-chip that’s overloaded with data and I sometimes have to spew it out to make space for more data. Maybe I talk too much because I felt that as a child I had no voice in the adult world. Maybe I just like to hear myself talk and think I’m like the coolest person ever to walk the earth. I don’t know, but I will explore more about this phenomenon in future articles.
