So a long time ago, when I was an itty bitty tiny person, I learned how to talk. Then, as the family joke goes, I never ever stopped. I was the chatty kid who couldn’t be quiet in school, who always lost the quiet game and who always spent like an hour telling a joke even though I had no clue what the punchline was.
Somewhere along the way to here I lost that. I got quiet. Weirdly so. It’s less of a I’m-broken-from-a-strange-talking-too-much-trauma and more of a I-forgot-I-like-talking-a-lot thing.
Sunday I was hanging with just family (blood-related family, so no boys allowed) and it was awesome. It was hilarious. We laughed a lot. And me? I talked a lot. I talked up a whole storm. I was sharing ridiculous anecdotes about walking Lyra and the feral cat population and spinning elaborate jokes that were funny (I hope) without ever getting to a punchline. It felt nice. Sure, it was mostly due to the amount of alcohol swimming in my blood stream, but whatever. It was fun.
And it hasn’t stopped. I feel so full of stories and words and sentences and monologues. I want to talk. Monday morning I had a running commentary of every thing in my head and it was directed (loosely) at David. At one point I started a sentence with ‘Hey, you know what I wonder?” Then I laughed and interrupted myself–I was talking so much that I interrupted myself–to finish the question with “I wonder if I can be quiet for a solid minute. No really, though, I was thinking about….”
At the beginning of August I was found The August Break 2013. I really liked it, since I had been super lame about posting anything interesting. It felt like an easy cop out for post ideas, at least until I figured out if I wanted to write on here anymore. I post what,
three seven! pictures? Two more if you count instagram? Anyway, I posted photos for the first week-ish and then?
And then I never shut up.