The eve of a holiday weekend has me wound up tighter than a drum. I’m closing out an excellent week, filled with assorted wonderful things that leave a little tingle in my tummy.
My workouts were sweaty and productive, and my bones finally feel recovered from the trail marathon. Things are moving and shaking at work, and I am optimistic about the future for the first time in quite awhile.
Life is good.
And yet lately, this motor mouth of mine which normally gushes and spits out whatever is on the tip of my tongue is often tripping over words and desperately trying to construct coherent sentences with uh’s and um’s. What do I want to say?
I feel a bit censored everywhere, really. It’s unfortunate.
I know what I’m thinking, I’m just unsure about whether or not it’s appropriate to give those thoughts a voice, and I’m not sure what that voice sounds like. Is it a shy, clear, virginal first-soprano voice? Or a deep, robust, confident alto?
Sometimes the Belgian did not have the English vocabulary to speak his mind, and you could see the frustration across his face. He would try to use other words together to convey his meaning, but it wasn’t working for him, so he would often resort to French, and we used a dictionary to try to help me understand his word choices. Romantic, but frustrating, nonetheless.
Could this be my problem, too? Maybe I’m in a foreign land where the language is different and I just don’t have the knowledge or experience to express myself. Maybe.
Maybe I just think too fucking much.