So Then I Said…

I’ve always been a talker. Sure I’ll have nothing to say from time to time but usually I’m just sticking my foot in my mouth. Ever since I was a kid I have been longwinded. Rightfully or wrongfully, I have a set of iron lungs that just keep spewing dialogue like I know what I’m saying. It’s been that way for a long time and over the years has been pointed out. It’s a pretty common joke in my life and a genuine sentiment that I enjoy good conversation. Sometimes any conversation is nice too. Well, sometimes.

Typically it’s questioned though if I’m not chatting up a light storm about this or that. Since I’m not one to be too quiet especially when something is wrong. Well again, sometimes. Actually I dated a guy who when breaking up with me said the reason being was that I didn’t talk enough. Which was funny at the time but funnier telling my family and friends about it since the story took about twenty minutes to tell.

Every now and then I look forward to the silence. It’s a pretty busy world out there and we often get lost in the shuffle. At least, I get lost. Even though I’m not sharing my misguided adventure with you that’s all I can think about. Spinning my wheels like I think I’m actually going somewhere. It’s hard to get out of that. It’s hard to interrupt a conversation to collect your thoughts. To slow down and assess the situation to see that oh shit, yeah we’re stuck. To see things as they exist and go oh yeah, we’re still stuck but it’s not so bad because we know we’re stuck. Which doesn’t always mean you’re in the same place time after time. You’re not going anywhere if you’re just spinning your wheels looking for a way out. You’re not saying anything if you keep chasing your thoughts with words.

Something I heard when I was growing up was to “pay attention to your commas.” Take a break and look at what you’re saying, at what you’re doing. Pause for a moment and think about where you want to go with this. Not all sentences make sense, not all paragraphs have substance, and not all thoughts are finished but it all creates a story. It’s all apart of the great book of life that each one of has a chapter in. Maybe I talk too much but that’s the way I am and how I like to be. Chatty and sarcastic with a little bit of sass that masks my insecurity just right.

So as I bustle through, lost and in the mood for conversation, I try to pay attention to my commas because we are after all writing a story.

Stay wild.

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Photo Credit: This is Pretty Wild

 

Deliver to the Penthouse, Please

It’s a typical Wednesday afternoon on a rainy Valley day. The end of the month and the end of another work day. I have a short drive home but it feels like a long commute this time. I pull into the driveway and stagger up the steps – shit, I forgot about dinner. It’s been a long enough day and I could probably go without a meal. Of course, tomorrow’s Thursday and the midweek hurdle’s only just been jumped. So I live on the edge and order pizza. There’s lunch too.

Since I couldn’t go back out into the world, I opted for delivery. From a pizza joint that is a block away but the four dollar fee was an easy compromise not to have to leave the house. It took well over the allotted time for the pizza to be delivered but you can’t be too picky. When the buzzer finally rang I was pretty hungry. Maybe not in the best mood to begin with but nonetheless I just wanted my pizza.

She gets to my fourth floor apartment unit and with a displeased expression tells me it’ll be twice what I’m expecting. I scoff politely and tell her what I think it should be. This displeases her even more so and asks me to meet her downstairs. I’m in my pajamas. I slip my shoes on and head down to meet her while she’s phoning in the problem. I’ll spare you the details but apparently someone over there doesn’t know what they’re doing. Her sentiments, not mine. It continues like this for what seems like a ridiculous amount of time and I’m starting to get a little upset. Almost willing to pay double, almost. Then she starts arguing with the person on the phone about what my toppings were.

It’s dragging on and honestly I feel a little bad. The delivery person is giving the other person a hard time and then says “Y’know that broad on [street]”. Yeah, yeah I order a lot of take out. The lady looks at me and half smiles without kindness. So I shrug and say “Sorry, I have a thing about leaving my house. Otherwise I’d go down the street to get my pizza”. Her whole face softens which surprised me. She says “Oh. Is this outside of your comfort zone?” Referring to me standing halfway out the lobby door. With a straight face I said, “yes.” I mean, it wasn’t a huge stretch. Well, gosh this changed everything. She begins to apologize and reassures me that we can go back inside. Everything will be OK she nods as she pushes me back into the lobby.

I have a normal thing about leaving my house in which at the end of a long day – I don’t want to go any where; but the pizza lady didn’t need to know the details of my particular personality disorder.

We make our way upstairs all the while she’s reassuring me and telling the pizza order taking person what the price will be. She’s really nice about it in a full of pity kind of way. We get back and the bill is more reasonable. She lets me know I can still get delivery any time. Which is nice to know but I think I’ll be picking my food up for a while.

Stay wild & stay home.

 

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Photo Credit: This is Pretty Wild