I’ve realized that when I talk, the person who is supposedly listening is always doing something else and by the time the story is getting really good that person has moved on from listening to me, to now operating on their own agenda. They are forming the question seconds before they ask it, so I have not only lost them when they speak, but well before that moment.
Who am I kidding? I thought I was writing to be recognized for my wit, my ability to tell a story, to entertain. Instead, I am just writing so I can complete a sentence without being interrupted. Sometimes that doesn’t even go well for me. I am always reading back what I wrote realizing my errors were the result of constant interruptions.
Tonight I was relaying why I had a bad moment at work. It was a great story. A story of – “holy c$#@, I can’t believe I did that”, to sheer panic, to worry and then immense relief. There was even a math lesson in my story. But even with that, it was a GOOD story.
There I am, telling it, feeling like I have avid listeners, they were making eye contact (well, I got a glance anyway) when the hubby begins to ask who wants ricotta cheese on their spaghetti, and all of a sudden my avid audience is now focusing on their food and asking each other questions about school.
|How I Felt|
I was just at the good part! No one even wanted to know what the outcome was! They all had moved on. I hadn’t even closed my mouth yet from the last sentence and they had moved on.
They didn’t even realize I was upset, let alone the story was hanging in mid-air, slowly evaporating into the steam from their food.
Even as I write this, someone has just asked me if I know why Lynyrd Skynyrd is called Lynyrd Skynyrd.
WHO THE HELL CARES! I have a story to tell over here.
(it was their gym teacher Leonard Skinner –who had a strict rule against long hair) I figured you would want to know and wouldn’t be able to pay attention to my writing until I told you…..
|Leonard with Lynyrd|
To make matters worse, the story, now in its incomplete, untold stage, kind of sucks. There is no point in starting it over; no one will quite understand it now.
That my friends, is why I write.
(and have small internal baby temper tantrums)