On Talking - Too Much

I just finished a week that seems more like a month being flogged and pissed on with pointless stories, meaningless anecdotes, and inaccurate and self-serving accounts of “the good old days.”

And I feel stupider for the experience.

Speaking has a place, of course.

There are some things that need to be said, or asked:

“Don’t step out in front of that bus.”

“I need another drink.”

“Put on your fucking mask.”

“Would you like to go to dinner now?”

Speaking can be effective to transfer valuable information when there isn’t time to write.

Yet, I sense most disagree, evidenced by the uninterrupted vomitus of vacuous, needless sounds spewing from wide open mouths, either incorrectly recounting history with no point or expressing their beliefs, opinions, but mostly their prejudices and self-serving fabrications:

“I believe (insert something heard on TV.)”

“You know?”

“I like/hate (insert something heard on TV.)”

“You know?”

“I want/own/have (insert something seen on TV.)”

“You know?”

“I like my French Fries hot.”

“You know?”

“I should have been an astronaut.”

“You know?”

“You know?’ Is not really a question, but a placeholder, giving the speaker time to tell you about him or her. He doesn’t want to hear anything. He wants to talk. And talk. And talk.

“Jennie and I just go back from Hawaii. It was sooooo beautiful. And she shopped and I played golf, and . . . “

And, I don’t care. It’s not that I am jealous. I have been to Hawaii and found it expensive and overrated. But even if it had been the best place on the planet, I am not more informed hearing someone else’s travelogue.

“Check out my new Mercedes!” OK, “nice car.” But do I care what someone else drives? Should I? I don’t even care what I drive.

I don’t give a fuck.

No one gives a fuck. Really. No one gives a fuck about what you think, or what I think. We each care about what we think. It is the relentless need to share it that is the problem.

Yet, most listen to anything said by anyone with feigned interest. They feel it necessary to fake a laugh at pathetic attempts at humor, or pretend not to have heard the same boring stories before, and respond cheerily with an “Oh, really?” to anything, everything, no matter how empty, pointless, or inane.

Which leads me to this question: What is wrong with silence? What is the personal, unforgivable sleight inherent in sitting with someone without saying anything if only because there is nothing to say?

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