For Tomás . . .
Do you ever go through those phases in life where, one week, you can speak fairly eloquently (and have quite the arsenal of snappy comebacks that you didn't even really know you could possess), and the next week, you can get your point across about as well as a caveman? It's a phase that runs its course every month or so, and when it hits you, you just feel like storing paperclips in your mouth because they would serve you better than talking would.
I'm there, now. I can't even form coherent thoughts during a conversation, let alone coherent sentences. Mostly, I just stand there, with my mouth slightly ajar as I try to think of what to say. It's extremely embarrassing.
And yet, I have absolutely no problem writing my thoughts. It's like the keyboard is a trigger or a switch, and as soon as I sit down to type, the switch is flipped, and my thoughts come rushing out like water being poured from a bucket: all at once. It's refreshing, really; I don't have to strain to figure out what I'm feeling, and I get time to filter out what doesn't really need to be said. That's the only confirmation I need for my being an English Writing major; it's obviously the easiest way for me to communicate, since I have a knack for stuffing my mouth full of paperclips when dealing with face-to-face, group conversations.
But you know what? I'm okay with it. Sure, it's frustrating when I can't get my words out verbally (especially when it comes to editing a paper for someone. I know why something should be altered, but I can only make uncomfortable noises, such as "Uuunngghhh," and "Duuurrr," instead of intelligently and expertly explaining my reasoning). Yeah, that's upsetting. But I'd rather be a mumbly-bugger when it comes to verbal communication than be a crappy writer. If that were the case, I'd definitely be in the wrong major.
This is Maximum Sunshine, signing off. Αντίο και ο Θεός ταχύτητας.
