Guess I'll Have To Become Telepathic

All right. Let me say right at the get-go: I’m not criticizing or disparaging the party I’m about to expound on. Different is good.

I don’t understand people who don’t talk much. This is not to say I don’t understand what they say when they do speak. I just wish they’d go into more detail, longer.

I like knowing a lot about my friends. The more, the better. Laconic people… Huh. I get that still waters can run deep (Can, not do. Sometimes a puddle’s just a puddle.), I get that people have personal lives and secrets; privacy and all that. I don’t have to know everything about a person. But I’d occasionally like more info than I’m getting.

I wanna know ya. I want to know how your day went, if anything interesting happened during your day. And I’m not gettin’ much from some. It’s not that they’re especially tight-lipped, our bound to some code of silence (that I know of), but they just aren’t sharing. Which is fine, because this is America, dammit, and you have the right to remain silent.

I also want to point out that I don’t condone verbal diarrhea, in which every last thought gibbers out of your mouth so a guy can’t get a word in edgewise. All things in moderation.

The problem, however, with the quiet types, is that the first impulse is to open your big yapper and start talking to them. The second impulse is to talk about me. I’m trying to be better about it (thanks again, McCall), but if you’re not going to say much, how the hell am I supposed to know?

It fascinates me. It really does. The appeal of that which is unknown. The best part about all of this? There’s not a thing I can do about it. Not a blessed thing. People will either share what’s on their mind, or they won’t. And prying certainly won’t endear one to them. So I just live with it.

Glad I got that out of my system.