Sometimes I wish I were my husband.
Not the man that goes to work and deals with numbers and figures and things I don’t even understand from early in the morning to late in the evening. Not the man that cares for and worries about his brother, has also been known to be a “little concerned” about the amount his son eats or his dog walks. I’ve already got stressing about everything covered. Many times over.
Rather, I wish I were my husband in conversation.
I wish I had his deeper understanding of relationships, of dealing with the ins and outs of dialogue. It’s not just because he’s incredibly smart and articulate but it’s the way he responds to exchanges with people that I want to make my own.
Where I hear anger and aggression, he hears passion and ardour. Where I hear whining and whingeing he hears someone that needs to be listened to. Where I worry that people are excluding me or somehow hating me (paranoid people like me do that a lot) he looks beyond the conversation to where it is coming from.
I don’t mean to make him out to be a saint because there’s been many a time I’ve wanted to pull him up when we are in the middle of a group conversation. There’s also been many times I’ve wanted to kick him to encourage him to shut up in company and I wont even mention the eye rolls and exaggerated exasperated sighs because quite frankly, sometimes I do not like listening to him at all.
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But he has something I don’t. He has the ability to cut out the emotion from conversation without being emotionless himself. I am the opposite.
I inject emotion into dialogue that doesn’t have any to start. I tend to take conversations and analyse them until I have worked myself into a state. I look back at each snippet of what I’ve heard so that it no longer matters what the person actually said. In my mind I’ve got have the whole thing worked out, the back story, the reason that tone was used and even what is going to happen next, the problem is that it has nothing to do with the conversation that actually happened – just the part that I took away and moulded in the privacy of my head. I am like a sculptor of other people’s words – I form them into objects that never existed before.
I colour my conversations with my hang-ups. I listen with my neurosis and not my ears. I’m so damn sensitive.
So maybe I don’t want to be my husband at all – I just want to learn from him how to let stuff go because he’s really good at that.
Do you analyse your conversations after they’ve happened? Are you an over-sensitive communicator? Or should I be spending more time with you as well?