Further proof of just how fucked up I am...
I just used about a half a dozen "emoticons" *rolling eyes at the pretense* in a 15 minute IM session.
Pretty fucked up, huh? Well, that's not the really fucked up part. The really fucked up part is that, once again, I was, for all intents and purposes, talkin' to myself. So, basically, I used six exaggerated facial expressions and laughed out loud a coupla times in a converstion where I was not only the only one talking, I was the only one PRESENT.(Yes, it was another attempt to be on the computer at the same time as my Canadian Godsend. How very "been through this with me before" of you to know this.) And, ya wanna know what's borderline sad? I do the same shit, have eighteen minute conversations with myself to him, when I get his voicemail. Just once, I'd like to be a fly on the wall one night, when Paul gets home from work and sees there's a message from me on his phone.
To see, first, his facial expression when he realizes it's me and has a "bad acid" flashback to the numerous other times he's had to stand and listen to me ramble on forEVER about whatever it is I'm calling him for, and then his physical, full-body reaction to the further realization that he's probably in store for another drenching of diarrhea of the mouth from me about something that will, in all probability, turn out to be no big deal anyway, because there hasn't been one single thing yet EVER that he hasn't been able to handle from me. My version of this pr-oh-cess involves wailing, the gnashing of teeth, and bodily gyrations depicting pain, then culminates with him weeping into a pillow. Then, sometime later, during the third, or fourth maybe, of my calls back to continue the (damned) message (cause I wasn't DONE YET when his voicemail was), I see Paul sitting on the floor by the phone, splay-legged, back against the wall, slugging from one of those gallon jugs of Jack while my message plays on and on and on and on and never does seem to get to the fuckin' POINT.
Then, he does the Archie Bunker "suicide by gunshot during one of Edith's stories" pantomime... Long about this time, my mind gets distracted... by something shiny and sparkley, no doubt... and we go think about that for a while. Poor Paul. I love him half to death. He puts up with me so gracefully.... he's such a love to know.... (thank you, Rob *grin*) I just wish I could my shit together well enough to BE HERE THE SAME TIME HE IS JUST ONCE!! (/Sam Kinison) Okay.
*squares shoulders and shakes hair out of eyes* I'm gonna go bake now.
Myself, as well as a cake and two kindsa cookies.
*grin* Peace
Comments
1
Not fucked up at all....the ability to talk so long (basically by/to yourself) takes a highly intelligent and uniquely creative mind....also, the great consolation of engaging in a solo conversation is the knowledge that you can be absolutely sure that at least one person was listening! ;>)
Posted by: vizsladog3 at December 05, 2006 04:40 PM (5U/Gc)
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