A sincere apology for my severe garrulousness.

Despite what my average interlocutor might think, I’m incredibly aware of my excessively talkative nature. Words spill out of my mouth like a waterfall of mythic proportions, leaving my well-meaning conversationalist drenched and shivering, having been met by the blast of a firehose when all they had asked for was a glass of water.

With some concentration – an effort that ranges from slight to Herculean, depending on the time of day and my state of caffeination – I can rein it in. (That’s the perfect phrase, since it calls to mind an image of wild horses tossing their manes, legs rearing in the air as they strain against their reins, while I stand, feet planted on the ground, holding the ropes tight.)

If there was no one to stop me – not my own conscious, not other people – I’d probably talk until my vocal chords faded into nothing.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I have anything particularly interesting to talk about. But anything can be interesting if you think about it enough. And I think about things far too much, a truly unfortunate fact for those poor souls who happen to be both in my close vicinity and friendly when this multitude of thoughts overflows the limited capacity of my brain.

When I find myself in this state of uncontrollable blabbering, every train of thought meanders uninterrupted into the next, my words in lockstep with my mind, spurting out thoughts the second they form.

The very worst thing is when my sincere apology on behalf of my particularly meaningless rant is met with an equally sincere assurance that my ramblings “aren’t bothersome”.

This is a lie. Unfortunately, I can’t prove this, since I love my friends and family too much to talk until they lose all patience, which would be the only way to truly test my theory. So, every time my apology is waved aside, and I am reassured that my talking is fine, and that I shouldn’t feel bad, I smile and say thank you, while I harbor deep suspicions that my conversation partner has just lied to my face. But of course, I don’t hold it against them, because I would do the same thing in their shoes.

If I were to diagnose the true trouble, I’d explain that I’m not capable of summarizing or succinctly stating a story. After all, every tale needs a setting, a purpose, and detail. It should be preceded by background information that puts the story in context. Actually, I amend my earlier statement: every tale deserves those narrative elements. To tell a story improperly is to do a severe injustice to all parties involved- the listener, the characters, and all previous storytellers who have relayed the message. Perhaps I’m being dramatic, but drama is yet another narrative device that supports a story – just ask the Ancient Greeks. Or my grandmother.

Suffice it to say – (a string of words I rarely utter but perhaps should employ more often) – I truly wish I could talk less.

I can’t promise I’ll extinguish my long-winded stories and overall verbosity immediately. But I can tell you that every day, I wake up firmly resolved to talk less and listen more. This goal has the same efficacy as the average New Year’s resolution, but unlike those, I have 365 chances to wake up and try again. Unless it’s a leap year. Then I have 366.

So, if you were on the receiving end of my blabbering today, I apologize, and I ask for one more chance to prove – against all patterns of behavior, and perhaps against reason itself—that I can actually shut up.

If you would like to listen to this piece, here is a YouTube link!