Good Talking With You

In my head I see things differently from the way most people would recall my birth. In my mind there was no hospital, and certainly no doctors or nurses. I remember trees. That’s not to say that I was born in the woods, but my first memories are of trees. I don’t remember how I felt about them, just that they made a strong impression. I was either two or three; walking and talking, but not reading or writing just yet. Is it weird that I can remember so far back? I wonder…
I guess I have no point, except of course to rant; but escape is necessary when one is conversing with one of the fairer sex. I think she’s still…. yeah, she’s still talking about something. Good lord! What the hell is she talking about!?!? Oh shit! What the hell IS she talking about? I forgot I was suppose to be listening to this.
“…I don’t even think she looked to see whether someone was using it. She just took it! I mean…” okay, she is having some kind of problem with another woman. Well, there’s a change of pace.
What is the god damned deal with women anyway!?!? I mean, whether they call themselves friends or not, they always have some bullshit problems with each other, which they need to tell me about. They treat every little incident as an act of sedition whose punishment should be death. I wouldn’t care so much, if I didn’t have to carry on entire conversations about how Jenifer should have asked to use the copy machine on this floor, or how Amy was being a bitch in the carpool, or some such nonsense. I mean, you can only humor a person for so long before you start to feel like kind of a dick for treating them like children, whether they notice or not.
“Jon! ….Jo-”
“What?”
“What do you think?”
“You know, it just isn’t right.”
“That’s what I said! And it’s like…”
Okay, well I don’t feel like too much of a dick, not right now anyway. Besides, I’d rather feel bad for not listening than be numb from this conversation.
Men think of sex every six minutes. I guess that was my contribution. I looked down at my watch. 12:31. Someone down the hall had the radio on. Was it lunch yet? I wonder if its weird that I have an inner monologue. I wonder if its just me who hears my own voice in my head. That is all this is after all; me talking to myself as though I were talking to someone else. Its not something I can easily dismiss as sane. I need to talk to someone about it. After all, if they do it too, how could I be insane? I just need to make sure the person I talk to is sane, that’s all. I should probably wait until I’m away from the present company to ask the question.
You know that it would be untrue,
You know that I would be a liar…. I don’t think there is a better song than that! Wait, of course there is. Wow, that was stupid, I don’t know why I thought that.
“Thanks for listening Jon. I just needed to get that off my chest.”
“Has it been sex minutes already?”
“What?”
“….What?”
“Do you want to get lunch?”
“I do!” I, am a Jackass. Six minutes on the dot though.

Good Talking With You

Chris Hubbard

New Jersey, United States

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