Not gonna happen. <ROTFL>
Today, an aside from the regular writing/editing or Triple Threat Investigation Agency post. . . . Or, could be, I just want to avoid thinking about—and disclosing—all the things that need doing re “Forever Poi”. Like getting it done.
Confession: I can’t stand talking on the phone. I will avoid answering the blasted thing, tell it to go away, curse it, tuck it in a drawer when not at work (and sometimes even then), and fire off damaging laser beams at it with a wrathful gaze.
I make promises to call people, and at the time I make the pledge, I truly do mean (and expect) to do so. Then, something—chores, Mom, email perusal, a newly realized task—throws a wrench in the works, er, promise, er . . . .
Fact: it’s not that I don’t want to talk to people, it’s that I don’t want to talk. Period. I’m simply not a chatterer. Or maybe it’s that I feel I don’t have anything interesting to share. And it’s not that I don’t want to hear all the wonderful things everyone’s up to, it’s that I . . . simply put . . . hate the phone.
Must be the writer in me. I’d rather type a 100 emails than spend two minutes on the blower, as they used to call it. In an email, you can create a mood, edit repeatedly before replying, get creative/fancy or keep it simple, state that all’s hunky-dory even if it’s not. On the phone, voice and tone betray disposition and attitude unless, of course, one’s a stellar actor.
Why am I revealing this little quirk? Guilt, I guess. I was supposed to phone someone Saturday, but come the agreed-to time, I simply couldn’t get my fingers to comply, but then, there was some vacuuming that was crying out to be done. (Honestly, I think visiting a dental surgeon would be easier, if not more enjoyable.)
Funny, huh? I suppose we all have our idiosyncrasies. <LOL>
On that note, my friends, feel free to email or message me as often as you like. I’ll [very] happily reply.
The Writer's Grab-Bag 