How Much is Too Much (or Too Much Too Soon)?

Not that I would expect anybody to know me, but I’m not the kind of woman who likes to waste time.  In anything.  I don’t like to “look busy” or “stretch it out” or any of those other work-related, time killing sentiments.  I don’t like to diddle around with inching into the pool or creeping off a band-aid millimeter by millimeter.  I get my work done when it’s done, I jump right in and I rip the band-aid off in one quick jerk.  To me, anything else is just stupid—and leaves way too much room for second guesses, hesitations and chances to back out.  And trust me when I say that if I’m given the chance to back out of something…mmm…edgy, I might, citing prudence. 

So, keeping all that in mind, I suppose it should now not surprise you to see me say that I have a tendency to talk too much.  Now, when I say that, I don’t mean to imply that I’m that person from whom you’re trying to extricate yourself during a conversation in a street corner, coffee shop, bar, hallway, parking lot, grocery story, theatre lobby, classroom, grocery store checkout line, etc.  I only mean that to say that I don’t talk about things of insignificant consequence to my life.  I don’t discuss weather or sports, I can’t have any kind of intelligent political discourse (due only to being woefully ill-informed) and when it comes to religion, to me, there’s nothing to discuss. 

Once you remove those easy stand bys from your topics of choice list, everything else gets a tiny bit more personal…well, I can fall back on movies and music, but that too, is almost a little more personal than makes people comfortable. 

And honestly, I feel a little put out by that.

Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not that I seem to believe that I have something so monumental, so inspirational, so awe-inspiring that I yearn to get the message out to all who will listen…it’s just…well…let’s cut through the bullshit and see where it gets us.  Let’s lay it all out and see what happens. 

Unfortunately, it’s been my experience that I might just be in the minority.  Again.  Now…I’m not saying that I feel it necessary to inform people of a rabid case of explosive diarrhea (a story one of my co-workers blessed me with this morning; remind me to thank her for that start to my work day), I just don’t hide things or evade questions very well.  And I’m ok with that.  I’m ok if people know that my father is an asshole of this highest caliber or if I spent a year of my life in a blur of Molson beer and pot smoke before I managed to get my shit together…somewhat.  It’s a part of my life, it shaped who I am and whether I’m shamed or proud, I own it.

Now…ante up.