I'd like to think I know when to shut up. It would be a lovely thing to be able to think about myself, but I've never had the experience, so I can only guess. In the scriptural accounts of Jesus' conception and birth, Mary does all kinds of silent pondering and keeping things to herself. Every time I read those I feel like a total idiot, because I know exactly what I would do if that were me.
I know because I do it all the time. Here. On Facebook. To people who'd rather be doing just about anything but listening to me. I spill. Verbal diarrhea, some call it. I think that somehow if I tell some poor person every uncomfortable detail of my concerns, those details will be slightly less uncomfortable. The really terrible thing is that I'm right.
I'm like some kind of terrible insect that vomits her problems all over a person to start digesting them before she actually eats them. And what with all the emotional digestion, I seem to be running out of friends fast. You'd think that would teach me to keep quiet every now and then, right? But no, I'm just some voracious beast destroying my own social ecosystem with my ravenous and ill-governed need to spray the entire universe with my special brew of overreaction, emotional baggage, TMI, and bitterness.
In other words, I apologize for the corrosive spew.