Wait, Whales?
My people skills still suck. It's almost like trying to converse with someone in a foreign language. I trip over the next normal thing to say. I wasn't known for normal, per se, but as I look back at my life, I seemed to get away with bloody murder, the way I conversed with people. Who knows what it was that's missing now. I loved deadpan humor, but there's something wrong that makes it horrid now. Just small talk in general is awful. Maybe my smile doesn't carry to my eyes. Maybe I don't smile at all. Who knows, but it's all painful.
I do enjoy practicing on my practically nonverbal medical massage therapist, Bill. This isn't a fancy massage with oils, soft music and hot rocks, so I'll practice the art of conversation all I want, dammit.
Besides, Bill doesn't seem to mind. He's probably one of the only people in my entire life right now who I see on a regular basis who doesn't have a code 5150 in my charts. Or if he does, he's at least polite and private about it.
I felt mentally stronger today, so I was doing my best at something I used to excel at, the art of small talk. A 45-minute massage is a long time to practice, and I heard myself getting dangerously philosophical. It seemed okay, though, discussing how my head injury was coming along.
"Isn't it odd that almost everyone has New Year's resolutions that they seem to so desperately want to change about themselves? And here I am, wishing I could get even the crappy parts of me back."
I mean, it was an okay statement to make. Not exactly charming, but just okay. And then I rested for a bit, letting this just be the memorable thing I said this session. Success.
And then, as usual, he started working on my feet.
"I was once told by a podiatrist my cold hands and feet are a relatively benign condition," I said. "The blood vessels are constricted, causing my outer extremities to not get enough blood flow. I can't remember the condition."
Shit.
Except he responded, "I know what you're talking about. I can't remember the name, either."
Oh. Okay. This seems to be a socially acceptable topic. Proceed, brain, proceed.
"I was told to take niacin for it," I continue. "It did work, but I'm just not that bothered by it. It's probably just uncomfortable for you."
"Niacin, huh?" he replies. "It's not uncomfortable for me, your feet."
Whoa. I'm engaged in a conversation. I should stop now. I really can't think of anything else relevant to say. End on a high note. Good job, brain.
"I read that whales have something like it. You know. For their fins, outer extremities. They have tiny blood vessels to their fins, tail. So they can withstand cold water."
Silence.
Shit and damn. Well, to be fair, it is true. I think. But more random than true. Still silence. And since this is the end of our session, I leave it like this. Whales, dammit. Whales are my legacy of this session. Keep trying, busted brain. Just keep trying.
I do enjoy practicing on my practically nonverbal medical massage therapist, Bill. This isn't a fancy massage with oils, soft music and hot rocks, so I'll practice the art of conversation all I want, dammit.
Besides, Bill doesn't seem to mind. He's probably one of the only people in my entire life right now who I see on a regular basis who doesn't have a code 5150 in my charts. Or if he does, he's at least polite and private about it.
I felt mentally stronger today, so I was doing my best at something I used to excel at, the art of small talk. A 45-minute massage is a long time to practice, and I heard myself getting dangerously philosophical. It seemed okay, though, discussing how my head injury was coming along.
"Isn't it odd that almost everyone has New Year's resolutions that they seem to so desperately want to change about themselves? And here I am, wishing I could get even the crappy parts of me back."
I mean, it was an okay statement to make. Not exactly charming, but just okay. And then I rested for a bit, letting this just be the memorable thing I said this session. Success.
And then, as usual, he started working on my feet.
"I was once told by a podiatrist my cold hands and feet are a relatively benign condition," I said. "The blood vessels are constricted, causing my outer extremities to not get enough blood flow. I can't remember the condition."
Shit.
Except he responded, "I know what you're talking about. I can't remember the name, either."
Oh. Okay. This seems to be a socially acceptable topic. Proceed, brain, proceed.
"I was told to take niacin for it," I continue. "It did work, but I'm just not that bothered by it. It's probably just uncomfortable for you."
"Niacin, huh?" he replies. "It's not uncomfortable for me, your feet."
Whoa. I'm engaged in a conversation. I should stop now. I really can't think of anything else relevant to say. End on a high note. Good job, brain.
"I read that whales have something like it. You know. For their fins, outer extremities. They have tiny blood vessels to their fins, tail. So they can withstand cold water."
Silence.
Shit and damn. Well, to be fair, it is true. I think. But more random than true. Still silence. And since this is the end of our session, I leave it like this. Whales, dammit. Whales are my legacy of this session. Keep trying, busted brain. Just keep trying.
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