“How would he know what I want, anyway?” I demanded of my husband, who, to his credit, did not look at all confused even though we had been quietly sitting in our living room on our respective computers for the better part of an hour.
I did it again. I keep trying to stop, but so far I’ve been unsuccessful. I’ve randomly brought up a thought attached to a statement someone made days, weeks or, in this case, months ago. No context. No lead in. No subtle hint in the comment as to which “he” or what that faceless entity had deemed to be in my best interest.
I seem to do this quite a bit. Usually the outbursts are connected with something fairly recent or at least something identifiable. This time, however, I was referring to a very short conversation I’d had with one of my brothers. I’d casually mentioned the possibility of moving to Missouri to teach in my old hometown school. He replied with a swift and firm: “You don’t want to do that,” dismissing any potential reasoning or desire as being not only unworthy of voice but as completely irrational.
At the time I simply tucked the conversation away into a little compartment in my mind and moved on to other topics.
And I wonder why I don’t sleep at night.
There are thousands of these compartments. Snippets of conversations. A casual phrase spoken in passing. Something overheard. Unspoken rebuttals. Each in their own little box with a neatly typed label.
While I think these boxes are closed tightly, this is not the case. Instead, all of these bits and bobs are cluttering up my thought processes and giving me random feedback. Often I can keep the outbursts to myself. Occasionally, however, the righteous indignation or hurt or anger or frustration will bubble out and make me sound like I’ve lost my mind.
I had a tarot reading today. As such things go, I concentrated more on the general impression rather than the details. One of the things that remains with me (among many insights – my reader was quite adept!) is that I have a communication problem. I bottle things up that should be let out. I’m not happy about something but I’m not saying anything and therefore that something cannot be addressed.
The underlying problem is that I cannot communicate about bottled up things until that little box slips open and allows me to see what my mind has made of the contents.
Maybe I just need a better filing system.