I don’t know when it happened, or how old I may have been when I discovered that I was capable of being a bore, but whenever it was, on that day, I probably learned for the first time what it felt like to be embarrassed. For me, nothing creeps up more subtly, or takes over more completely than my non-stop enthusiasm for subjects in which I take delight.
Asperger Syndrome assumes many shapes and textures, but for me, none is more pronounced and frequently evident, than the penchant to speak with lengthy abandon about anything I find intriguing.
Just ask those on Facebook. What a gold-mine opportunity for me to reconnect with old friends, and interject my laborious thoughts into every topic they post that happens to tweak my interest. Did I say old friends? Perhaps I should say, fresh audience. Just when they thought they’d moved far enough away, and allowed enough time to lapse so that they could get on with their lives, there I was, asking to be their “Friend” again. But one good thing has come of it: this vast pool of new cyber-victims has afforded my wife a slight respite from being the only ear in the house I bend.
If you are not familiar with Facebook, it’s a social network, where people daily post their thoughts or activities. Some are as trivial as “I’m pouring my first cup of coffee this morning, and getting a perverse sense of joy out of letting the whole world know about it,” or, “My fingers are bloody from typing every little detail of my life onto Facebook, so I’m going to bed” (post time: 3 am). Others are more thought provoking. And that’s what I’m angling for.
With the fervor of a tent preacher, I begin to interject my views on a given subject of interest, let’s say “Should the Aboriginal People of the Amazon be forced to wear clothes?” By the time I’m done typing, only the faint-of-heart are still enfranchised enough to give a darn. And it is only then that I become completely embarrassed to realize that I have once again commandeered and dominated the conversation.
It happens all the time. A while back, I ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen in years and we made a date to meet for lunch. Over heaping mounds of Asian food, I found myself talking non-stop for the entire hour. Wherever that friend is today, I would sincerely like to apologize. He’s not returning my calls.
Now you’d think that I would enjoy a good listener, but in reality, if one isn’t willing to engage in the conversation, if their eyes glaze over with a salty film, if they seem to be losing the function of the left side of their face, I am not a happy camper. Sure, I’ll plow on alone until I have so thoroughly exhausted them, the EMT will have to certify that no more can be done for the patient, and take them off of life support, but afterwards I will feel a most profound sense of remorse.
No matter how many times in my life this scenario is plays out, it is generally not until after I have made a total nuisance of myself, that I realize I have run severely overtime at the dais. By that time, my audience (small as it may be) has taken up origami out of shear boredom, and having used up all existing inventory, are in the process of striping the walls of paper. Even this blog is a great example of how I find it difficult to put the brakes on a subject once I get started. Most blogs are of a moderate length, so as not to discourage readers whose attention span is the duration of an egg-timer. But my posts are always longer than they should be. And that, after I have trimmed them down from morbid obesity. And it should be noted, that at the beginning of each writing, I am determined to make this one short.
A little word of caution for those of you who might accidentally stumble into my web: If you are in my presence, the warning signs are evident. My seemingly unresponsive, monotonous voice will suddenly perk up. I will actually begin to seem engaged. My demure eyes will sparkle like the old-timer from the movie “Treasure of the Sierra Madre” who spontaneously breaks into a jig when they strike it rich. From there, it’s all downhill. Gravity has taken hold of the conversation, and the G-force will increase until the very skin on your face is stretched to its limit.
It’s more difficult to figure this out on the computer. Tell-tale signs are that within a given paragraph, I will have utilized the equivalent of three quarters of the English dictionary, and made up a couple of words along the way which will be impossible to decipher. I will have used at least three illustrations to make each point, and will not be satisfied until I have once again broken my own record for incorporating the comma in a sentence.
And now, for your further enjoyment, I have included a clip from the movie, “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.” It’s the moment when the old prospector informs his companions that they are standing on a rich vein of gold. If I could have located the whole clip, you’d see that he was quite a talker, as well as an interpretive dancer. Until next time…
