i’ve said some things here and there lately i’m not happy with, and i get this feeling i should just quiet the hell down. like there’s no way to enter an emotional discussion without, metaphorically speaking, some of the sauce splattering somewhere. i never realize it till much later, and by then the stain’s set (if it was even removable in the first place).
i generally don’t really know what i mean to say, if it is something that arouses strong feelings in me, until after i’ve already said it the wrong way.
when i was a teenager and in posession of some truly lethal low self-esteem, it was very difficult for me to communicate in any situation in which it was important i get my point across. the more important it was to me that i make a good impression the first time, the more likely i was to be seized with spasms of verbal diarrhea that left me looking more than foolish, and even worse to myself, and i would become more nervous and more self-conscious and on and on, spiraling on down. and that little girl in me is still there, a faint but recognizable voice offering criticism after the fact, in that tone she knows will make me feel as small as i’ve ever felt, even now, even still.
fortunately i’m old enough to go through motions that suggest letting-go, learning to live with things i’ve said, shrugging, apologizing or clarifying if i can manage, moving on. that’s still an act, but so was everything else i ever did to make the little girl critic as quiet as she is now. it’s all about faking it.
hey, the spaghetti was good though.