Monday, January 17, 2011

No, Yes, Meet My Friend Middle Ground.

I had two important errands to run today.
I woke up bright and early, got dressed, perched on the edge of my kitchen sink and gave myself a pep talk over yogurt and hot lemon water.

When packing my car for Omaha, I included a cardboard "special' box that held my professional attire. Just in case. So this morning, I ripped the duct tape off that cardboard box and ironed out the wrinkles in my skirt. I dressed and was nicely prepared for a close encounter with a job I want.

I am a triple x's 10 checker. So, naturally, I double checked all of my materials before I left the house, fussed over watermarks and cotton/linen blends, then drove to my destination.

Which was closed.
Because, of course, it just happened to slip my mind that today is Monday and the building is CLOSED on Mondays.
Of course it is. I always miss something. Brilliant, Maranda.

I can blame it on Monday, right? Monday kicked dirt on my campfire.

So I drove to the post office. Important errand #2.
Determined to keep the day bright, I bounded out of my car, smiling, all the way to the locked door.
Of course, Maranda. Closed. Remember today?

So I threw an invisible-inside-my-head-tantrum on the grey, snowy, sludge-covered sidewalk, came home, locked myself in my apartment, and spent the rest of the day breaking my sewing machine needles and winding bobbins.

singer machine, you will not defeat me

Being back in a town of more than 15,000 has been so great, but it has made me think about the way I interact/communicate with people. It something that I've been thinking about too, in light of keeping a blog. Which is another conversation altogether...

So communicating. Writing vs. Talking. What's the big deal?
Two things:
1. Conversations. Have I forgotten how to communicate face-to-face?
At times, I think I forget how to talk, and my words always fall short.
Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, sometimes I don't care.

2. I'm reading a book called, How Proust Can Change Your Life, by Alain de Botton.
I don't remember the last time I read a book that made me laugh out loud, but this one does. It's absurd and chock-full of callous truths. I highly recommend it.

Anyway, tonight I walked to a pizza place up the road and had dinner with my book. As I was reading, I ran across a couple of passages that addressed my aforementioned concern and I wanted to share:

"... because the rhythm of a conversation makes no allowance for dead periods, because the presence of others calls for continuous responses, we are left to regret the inanity of what we have said, and the missed opportunity of what we have not."  

"...conversation allows us little room to revise our original utterances, which ill suits our tendency not to know what we are trying to say until we have had at least one go at saying it, whereas writing accommodates and is largely made up of rewriting, during which original thoughts -bare, inarticulate strands- are enriched and nuanced over time..."

So, during supper, a very friendly girl came in, sat down next to me, and placed a to go order. While she waited for her food we had the most lovely chat, dead periods and all.

Dear Christie, 
Thank you for an unexpected conversation.

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