‘Words Like Violence Break the Silence’

Talking, as I have previously established, is something I like to do frequently and for long periods of time. Much of this issue with my 'diarrhea of the mouth' is just part of who I am, but as I've stated before, it's been worsened by the fact that the only two people I get to talk to all day are ages six and two, and as interesting as my conversations with Aidan and Emie may be, they are not exactly the stimulating adult dialogues I crave so dearly day after day. So when presented with the prospect to speak with other, as my kids would say, grown-ups, I ramble on raggedly, even when my 'words are meaningless and forgettable', and the above mentioned children are assailing my arms and pleading for departure. Nonetheless, there are indeed times where I find 'words are unnecessary', and I wish to not be spoken to, and do not want to use my vast aptitude for verbiage to speak in return, but when that time is deeply desired, 'words like violence break the silence, come crashing in, into my little world' and I am walloped with the very verbal violence I've subjected so many others to time and time again.

The time someone else's chatter creates chaos on my composure and when uncommunicativeness becomes utterly important is when 'all I've ever wanted and all I've ever needed is here in my arms' – meaning there is a book is nested comfortably between my two hands. One of my favorite things to do is to escape into the world of someone else's imagination and not come up for air until I deem myself ready to do so. However, upon reaching the pinnacle of any narrative, I certainly become the most imperative person in the world to family, friends, and sometimes strangers. Emie predictably needs help on the potty; Aidan's toy inevitably needs batteries; Hallo, our precious pup, without doubt wants left outside; a friend indubitably calls to converse (which rarely happens due to my aforementioned defect); and my husband definitively decides this is the moment to actually have quaint conversation with his wife. Sometimes I feel as if I am about to split open at the seams when such situations strike and certainly am stirred to spout out, "Leave me the hell alone, I just want to finish this chapter". While that does happen on occasion, especially if it's my husband who has instigated the interruption, I usually put on my polite grin and address whoever it is that needs my attention, attention which is only precious to others when I am doing something I enjoy so immensely, such as perusing the pages of my favorite plot.

Of course, since I am indeed inspired to share such seething with you at this moment, you can confidently come to the conclusion that this interruption into my escape in fact happened today, when I was thoroughly engrossed in the first book of my favorite series of novels. I took said book to the gym, and doing so must have meant I was wearing a sign that said, "I'm desperate, please talk to me." I promise you, I have went to the gym many a time with no reading material and no one ever wanted to share with me the cute things their little tots did that morning or what their favorite movie was, but if I have a book in hand, I suddenly achieve the popularity I once longed for in high school but would much rather do without in moments like these. By now you are probably begging the question of why I would take a book to the gym in the first place, as one would not reasonably go to the gym to read. Well no, I do not go to the gym with the sole intention to read, rather to take my 9:30 class. However, my son Aidan is a walking kindergartener, which translates to me having to drop him off at school at 9:00 and pick him up at 11:30 each day, in turn leaving me no time to return home before or after class, but just enough time to sink into in my favorite story. Today however, I was beaten with a barrage of bedlam on my brain, which has now left it bouncing like a raft on the rapids of a river rather than in the peaceful placidity and alternate universe of my beloved book.

So my friends, today I have been reminded of a lesson I learned long ago . . . karma is a bitch. I have complexity to conquer, one of becoming cognizant of when to cage the cackle. There is indeed a time to Enjoy the Silence, and I am not the only one who wishes to partake of such pleasures. Perhaps I may get the sweet silence I seek if I remember that what goes around comes around and that you only get what you give.

The title of this blog and all single quoted phrases are from the song Enjoy the Silence, written by Martin Gore and originally sung by Depeche Mode.