Tuesday, April 24, 2012


Why do people feel the need to *talk* so much?  

"I'm home!" when you come through the door. Well, obviously. I heard the door open, I heard you clomp inside in your boots, heard the dog yap and run toward you. It's fairly obvious that you are no longer out there but here. Thanks, got it.

"I'm so mad right now!" Really? I couldn't tell. Smoke is practically pouring from your ears, you're red in the face, eyes scrunched up in frustration, the muscles of your neck and arms tight, your hands in fists. Thank you for telling me you're mad, otherwise I wouldn't have picked up on it.

"Are you hurt?" I stood up right beneath that shelf and you almost heard my teeth rattle from the impact. I'm clutching my head and tears have sprung to my eyes. But did I hurt myself? You just want to make sure before you start comforting me.

This isn't directed to or from any one person, just... people. I'm not frustrated or angry about this. Just sort of bemusedly exasperated at the weirdness of humans. Aren't we weird?

"I love you." I know. I know you do. I can see it in your eyes, I hear it in the way you speak to me. I feel it with the way your arms wrap around me and your legs tangle with mine, and I know you love me because you tease me and pick on me text me stupid things to make me laugh and think about me when you see a website or a movie I might like. You don't have to say it for me to know. You don't have to say it.

But I like hearing it. I like knowing that yes, you're human just like I'm human, and when you say "I love you" or "I'm home" or ask "Are you hurt?" you're reinforcing that what I know, what I feel, is valid, that you know and feel it too. That we're both people together, spewing out utterly pointless words just to keep feeling human.

So maybe the words aren't totally pointless.