“I live in a Buddhist temple,” he said in a thick southern accent, with the same inflection that other pious use to imply that they never get drunk or laid, and are hence without sin.
His comment instantly transformed the moment from the drull type of moment that clouds my daily graces into the one of those surreal moments of epiphany that happen from time to time.
This is because, in my mind, I was thinking, “...and I live in juvenile correctional facility.” However, I kept my emitter clamped, and pushed the door to the parts store open, inspite of the wind.
The moment was special, because I realized that I very rarely, if ever, say what I am really thinking, and the phenomena is becoming more pronounced.
I replayed several interactions from recent memory in my mind while I waited to order new brake parts. The car sat with its big Volvo ass in the wind and its brick nose decorated with a new pink sticker notifying the good people of the world that one of my jalopies had again failed inspection. A few hours previously I sat outside while it waited in the inspection station. Apparently the previous owner was unaware of the impending deminse of the rear brakes. Or that an unrestrained battery is illegal in Virginia. At least the mechanic didn’t accuse me of being incompetent this time. The last one had no problem enunciating his opinion of me.
No, when things get confrontational or illogical I get confused and silent. Earlier that day, I told someone that they needed to attach the drill clamp to the drill press table or it would spin free and leave a trail of hell. To my surprise, they said, “ok”, then tightened the chuck, flipped the switch, and pulled the handle. The bit dug into the brass work piece, causing the piece and clamp to lift off the table and swing around to crashed into the base of the press. The drill press made an awkward 60 hz hum as it tried fruitlessly to push the clamp through its own support. I reached over my erstwhile machinist companion and nudged the switch off. “oops.” I said. Whatever other commentary and chastising available was simply ignored. It’s always like that.
My internal dialog was interrupted by the purchase of 4 brake pads, each the size of a deck of cards, and two rotors, one of which would be delivered the next morning. I felt a hundred dollars lighter. Like a newer, poorer, man.
I wonder if i am a foil to the folks who seem to be very good at finding ways of saying what everyone else is thinking, be it with poise and accuracy, or with sheer blunt force. Why am I not one of them? Should I care? When I wrote in my journal more, I wrote about frustration at coming up empty with retorts. This is a long standing behavior. Perhaps it is just the way that I am to the world.
His comment instantly transformed the moment from the drull type of moment that clouds my daily graces into the one of those surreal moments of epiphany that happen from time to time.
This is because, in my mind, I was thinking, “...and I live in juvenile correctional facility.” However, I kept my emitter clamped, and pushed the door to the parts store open, inspite of the wind.
The moment was special, because I realized that I very rarely, if ever, say what I am really thinking, and the phenomena is becoming more pronounced.
I replayed several interactions from recent memory in my mind while I waited to order new brake parts. The car sat with its big Volvo ass in the wind and its brick nose decorated with a new pink sticker notifying the good people of the world that one of my jalopies had again failed inspection. A few hours previously I sat outside while it waited in the inspection station. Apparently the previous owner was unaware of the impending deminse of the rear brakes. Or that an unrestrained battery is illegal in Virginia. At least the mechanic didn’t accuse me of being incompetent this time. The last one had no problem enunciating his opinion of me.
No, when things get confrontational or illogical I get confused and silent. Earlier that day, I told someone that they needed to attach the drill clamp to the drill press table or it would spin free and leave a trail of hell. To my surprise, they said, “ok”, then tightened the chuck, flipped the switch, and pulled the handle. The bit dug into the brass work piece, causing the piece and clamp to lift off the table and swing around to crashed into the base of the press. The drill press made an awkward 60 hz hum as it tried fruitlessly to push the clamp through its own support. I reached over my erstwhile machinist companion and nudged the switch off. “oops.” I said. Whatever other commentary and chastising available was simply ignored. It’s always like that.
My internal dialog was interrupted by the purchase of 4 brake pads, each the size of a deck of cards, and two rotors, one of which would be delivered the next morning. I felt a hundred dollars lighter. Like a newer, poorer, man.
I wonder if i am a foil to the folks who seem to be very good at finding ways of saying what everyone else is thinking, be it with poise and accuracy, or with sheer blunt force. Why am I not one of them? Should I care? When I wrote in my journal more, I wrote about frustration at coming up empty with retorts. This is a long standing behavior. Perhaps it is just the way that I am to the world.
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ReplyDeleteWhat is it dad says? "Only a fool opens his mouth and removes all doubt." I suspect he'd say its an approach. Saying what you actually want to say at any point is a rare gift; I've met seldom few who can do it at the drop of a dime, and then, only with rarity. Would you prefer a trail of lexical wreckage, as I'm sure you've witnessed as many quick tongued people as I create?
ReplyDeleteThat said, people are not tissue paper. Such slights when borne out of sincere concern can go a long way, so long as they do not drown the relation. But this skirts the actual question:
What does the absence signify to you? Do you feel as if moving through the world mechanically without a voice for your true feelings? That your thoughts have become so repressed by propriety that they no longer find words? Or is it a feeling of disconnection?(to shove many inadequate words in your mouth). How would the retorts change things? Why, when you have them, do you keep your lips sealed?
My motivation for the first paragraph stems from the regret I feel about my own attempts to loosen my tongue...all to frequently it only shows anger or thoughtlessness. Anywho, you have my curiosity if you care to share more.