Am I Boring? Or is it You?

Have you ever been talking to someone and there is just nothing to talk about? Maybe you try at first and ask them a few questions, but they only give you one-word responses… which are hard to turn into a conversation.

“So, are you having a good summer?”

Maybe they then ask you a few questions, but you are so worn out from thinking of the previous amazing question you just asked “How is work going?” that all you give them is one-word answers too.

“So Toni, do you like being a mom?”
“Right on.”

I used to really care about whether or not people were having a good time in my presence. I would feel personally responsible for their fun. I could feel the heaviness of someone who was momentarily bored, and it would be my crusade to liven up their experience. If there was an awkward silence in a group conversation… forget about it. I couldn’t stand more than five seconds of people looking down at their plates listening to clinking silverware. I often would say the most personal and embarrassing antidotes just to amuse people and make sure everyone was having fun.

Clear throat
Fake cough

“You know what guys? There was once this time when I was at a job interview and the person interviewing me farted. In order to make them feel better, I said “excuse me, I farted…” Doesn’t that just make you think about our own mortality and how at the end of the day we are just these sacks of bone and tissue that releases smells and secretes fluids? Anyway, I have been having these boy issues lately… probably because my dad never loved me. We fight all the time and he has these really strange sexual fantasies that involve melted butter, nunchucks, and a wizard hat. Can you pass the salt?”

But you know what? Now I really don’t give a care if people are having a good time around me. Don’t get me wrong, I will put in 50% effort, but if you aren’t willing to meet me half way, then I will totally let an awkward silence linger like a stale fart.

Maybe it is getting older and realizing I have no control over someone else’s happiness? Understanding that we are all responsible for our own inner joy. Or maybe it is because I put so much into my writing everyday that I get emotionally exhausted? Or maybe because I spend my day entertaining a baby that I already know happens to think I am fascinating!

“…and then get this Munch… I said ‘No, but that is an awful nice ski mask.’ Ha ha ha! Isn’t that outrageous!”