Short Story Long

I am a storyteller.

I think I always have been, for at least as long as I could speak and think in language.

I have always written stories, dreamed stories, imagined stories, and told stories – for as long as I can remember.

Unfortunately, for the most part, this aspect of my personality does not manifest itself in a good way. Instead, it causes me to ramble on and on, and watch the eyes of my family and friends glaze over as they patiently wait for me to get to the fucking point. Oftentimes, I go on so long that I can’t even remember whatever I was trying to say, so I ramble on longer, hoping it’ll come back to me eventually if I just keep talking. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes I bore even myself.

Sometimes, when I finally do arrive at the goal point, I realize it really hadn’t even been worth the journey to get there.

I fill up space with words, and realize that – while there are a lot of them – they haven’t really been understood by the listener or reader. All that effort, all that time, and still no point of connection made. Sometimes we’re not even in the same book, let alone on the same page.

My vocabulary is not very advanced, to be sure, but even using all the words I do know is not usually sufficient in expressing whatever it is I am trying to share. And the more I go on, the further away from my audience I drift. I live in a world where I don’t really speak the language to any degree of common fluency, and yet still I try to string words together into something that makes sense to another person. Like a fool, beating my head against the wall, over and over again. Endless, which I’m certain is how some of my stories feel to whoever I’m torturing with them at the time.

I realize they are not always that bad, of course. Most times, though. It’s become a joke on more than one occasion, that’s for sure. I can even feel myself doing it, and yet not seem to be able to stop myself. The easiest way to stop is to just not start. Usually. But then I sit with all those words in my head, and no place to put them. I feel like that confuses things even more.

Language, man. I’m not sure it’s really an effective tool for true communication. It’s just the best one we have. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t flawed. I am a walking, talking example of that!

I can’t even remember the actual point of writing this post.


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