We don’t think in words but phrases, kind of like half-ideas.
The cognitive load of choosing each word individually would be so great
that communicating and thinking
would be unbearably
Which makes me wonder if normal people have so many phrases that they have to edit out because the phrases are too paranoid, too angry, too enthusiastic, too whatever. I am like an old person who has lost her filter, except mine is just overwhelmed and exhausted.
I look in horror each day at the things I said the day before. I don’t even try to fix them – it just draws more attention to the bizarre phrases that came from a bubbling red cauldron, or a roller coaster, or a paranoid reefer madness film. I still have the urge to connect, goddammit, which I wish would die. Ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated, I trudge like a crud-infested dog, head permanently down, behind my friends, my bewildered acquaintances, my disapproving colleagues, and you. I think you love me anyway, stray phrases and all.
Sometimes people get so accustomed to discounting what I say that when I have something important to say, they totally miss it. But then, it may be an illusion that it’s important, and tomorrow it would just be embarrassing again.
Always, you hear five percent of what I want to say. When I’m smiling tightly, I’m wondering if I’m paranoid again.
I’d like to live a whole day, maybe Christmas, when all my phrases were acceptable, and when there was no following Regret Day.
Probably by this, tomorrow.