More and more, I find myself just not wanting to have conversations at all. Not because I don't like people--I do. I am so curious about what people do, what they love, how they work, how they got here.
But, inevitably, they want to know the same, to reciprocate curiosity for curiosity. And, inevitably, much to my own horror and pre-determination otherwise, I find myself falling into old complaints, old pessimisms, as if, by dumping this stupid muddy baggage I've been dragging around, I'll somehow conveniently lose it.
I mean seriously. Stupid weighty baggage. I haven't looked in there for months--god knows what makes up all that weight now. Decay and decomposition, no doubt. And, no doubt, one day it will make great compost. But for now, well, it just stinks up the place. No wonder I try to offload it.
So, despite all this junk, I tell myself I'll be positive during this exchange, and to my horror, there it is, spilling out of my mouth. And here's the thing--talking about your complaints does NOT lessen them. It doesn't. It rakes them up, stirs the embers (yes, my metaphors are all over the place--what else is new??), and the other person gets to go home relieved (I always imagine) not to carry such burdens (of course, they have their own).
And here I am, glaring down at the mess at my feet, knowing once again I've split the seams and have to load the whole bloody business back up and heave it home.
Really, I'm not sure why I set them down in the first place.