Sometimes I rabbit on for far too long. Perhaps there should be a Fellowship for people like me.
When an idea takes root in my cranium, I want to tell the world about it. And his wife.
Then I wonder why they’re becoming glassy-eyed.
I don’t talk about my childhood or my professional life or my family.
And I certainly don’t expect other people to express any interest in the latest baby or pet in our tribe. Why ever would they? They have two-leggeds and four-leggeds, or winged or whatever, of their own.
I talk about my latest enthusiasm of the moment. Usually in music. Or about political ideas or scientific insights and adventures that appeal to me.
Did I tell you about it?… Oh, I did.
Umm… Would you like to hear?… Oh, you’ve gone.
What was the name of that Fellowship?… Oh yes, I remember… On-and-on-and-onymous.
I wonder if I’ll ever get a word in, while everyone else gabbles away.
Or maybe recovery is indicated by staying schtum. And we’ll all sit in silence for an hour while trying not to look at the clock.
Hmm… I… er…
Oh.
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