There never seems to be anything to say. Emotions are tamped down, even the fears are muffled. Daily life is unexamined, the minutae of work and office are unspoken. And I’m quiet about the past two years, even to myself. There doesn’t seem to be anything to be said there, either. Sometimes, I silently contemplate the pieces and experiment with putting them together again. Sometimes I equally silently reject the self-pity.
And when you’ve sat in silence for a long time, it’s hard to break it. You sound over-loud and awkward. The things you say acquire a depth of meaning that you probably didn’t mean. Jokes fall uneasily. Comments become pronouncements. Everything seems simultaneously too serious and too uninteresting to mention. After a lot of thought you think of something to say and suddenly you are the cynosure of all ears. And your mind shrinks from such extravagant display so you decide to go home quietly.
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