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Posts Tagged ‘personality’

‎The lady sitting across from me is ticked off. I wouldn’t say I’m necessarily all that good at determining the emotions of complete strangers just by looking at their faces but this one is pretty easy.

She’s ticked off and I’m making the assumption it’s because the girl beside her is playing her music too loud. The girl has her ear buds in but you can still hear it. I’m sitting kitty-corner to her and I can still hear it.

The woman is rolling her eyes and sighing loudly. Of course, considering how loud the music is, she’s going to have to sign ten times louder to get her attention.

I reach over and grab my own ipod from my bag and put my earphones in. I catch eyes with the woman across from me and I can tell she feels validated, like I’m on her side.

Except she doesn’t know that I didn’t put my music on to drown out the other music, I did it so that if she decides to eventually say something to the girl beside her, I can hopefully stay out of it.

I fear confrontation in much the same way other people fear public speaking or small spaces. The very thought of it, the anticipation of it, makes my heart beat faster and my palms grow sweaty.

The ridiculous part is that I don’t just dread confrontation in which I am directly involved, I also loathe what I will call ‎observed confrontation. I don’t like seeing two people arguing on the street, even if I’m just walking by. I don’t like hearing one side of a tense telephone conversation, even if I don’t know either of the people speaking. I don’t like the chance that an argument may or may not happen anywhere in my proximity; not even the idea that there’s a remote chance it might happen.

I have swallowed more words than I can count, justified or not, because I don’t want to start something that may lead to something else. I have turned so many cheeks my neck aches and smoothed so many rough waters that my hands are permanently wrinkled.

I know there are times to stand up and say what needs to be said, even for no ther reason then because they need to be said. I don’t think anyone who knows me would describe me as a pushover but if strong words are being spoken you can pretty much assume I’ll be heading in the other direction or sitting in the corner with my fingers in my ears.

Sometimes I wish it this wasn’t the way I react. I wish I could be one of those people who can say what they mean, even if it means occasionally being mean. I am more than able to come up with the words that I mean, but they are only ever said under breaths or behind doors or into pillows.

Back to the present and the woman across from me is still sighing but she seems to have taken a break from the eye rolling. For my part I will stare out the window and pretend to be lost in my book.

And if we make it to our final stop with no tense words being said, I will consider it a successful journey.

At least until the next time.

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the words

The words come, they flow so quickly and effortlessly that I don’t even think about it. I don’t question where they came from or wonder what to do with them. They are the words; they are my words, and I trust that they will be there.

Until they stop.

I didn’t even realize they were gone right away. Days went by and I realized I had not written anything. I had a feeling in the back of my mind like I had forgotten something; like I left my purse somewhere or forgot to pay the cable bill.

I ran through the ongoing list in my head, running down the page, checking things off. Everything was as it should be. Except something was still missing.

The words.

I don’t know where they go when they go. It’s almost like I’m allotted so many words and when I use them up, they’re gone. I have to sit and wait for the next installment. And until then, my mind goes quiet.

I want to answer an email from a friend but I can’t get past the first sentence. I don’t want to write. I want to stare out the window, I want to read a book, I want to sit and listen to the quiet in my head.

I don’t want to talk. I have nothing to say; the words bore me. The sound of my voice makes me sigh. I just want the quiet.

It used to scare me. I used to wonder who I would be without the words, but now I know. I am the same; it’s still me. And the words will come.

I will walk down the street and see the first orange leaf of Fall and the words will come.

I will hear a story that makes me laugh and I will want to share it. I will want to tell everyone I know and make them laugh too.

I will once again see the small things and feel them light me up inside, and the words will come.

I am no longer afraid. I believe they will come; I know they will.

And when they do, I will be here waiting.

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