I talk too much. If there is a verbal void at the Party of One fellowship table, I have to fill it. I fear I will get sucked into “infinity and beyond” if I let peace and quiet reign. I can’t take the pressure.
It’s not like I have great and wise counsel to offer or new and interesting stories to tell. In fact, the older I get the more my stories are starting to sound the same . . . maybe because they are the same.
Unfortunately for others, I don’t remember who I told what to, so chances are everyone at the Party of One will get seconds whether they’re hungry or not.
Fortunately, I’ve had some stiff competition show up. It’s a nice break for me (and for others) to have someone else fill the silence with their choice morsels and/or reheated leftovers.
I used to fear that there was a direct correlation between age and repetition. I don’t fear that anymore—because now I know it’s true.
When I look down the table, I notice that those of us represented in the oldest generation are more apt to tell a story more than once and not remember telling it.
The people in the decade below us will start a story by asking, “Have I told you this before?” They ask because they’re afraid they will become like those of us who have gone on before them.
Those a decade younger don’t repeat themselves as a rule, unless they have to because the rest of us didn’t hear them or don’t remember what they told us the first time.
What was I saying? Oh, yes, I talk too much.