Things that strike me....
Things that strike me
Hurry Up post...I'm on a lab computer....
I was digging through my junk drawer this morning, trying to find a pair of gloves to wear to keep my hands from succumbing to frostbite in the short time it takes my truck heater to warm up. I found everything but...highlighter pens, a set of keys for a truck I no longer drive, roughly 80 feet of speaker wire. No gloves. I did run across a Christmas card from a year or so ago. It was from a girl I was getting to know...kinda flirting with I guess. Making my best efforts at a facsimile of it, all the same.
I'd been bugging her about training to be a "Pit Fighter."
It didn't mean anything...it's one of the many nonsense things I say over the course of a day. I'm often surprised and even confused when they pop out of my head, and this one was no different. It was just something that kinda ran as a running joke....we dealt with our stresses and stressors like a pit fighter would....
I looked at the Christmas card. We haven't spoken much since then...there was a falling out that I've decided was absolutely no fault of mine (and that's saying something, considering I carry around a naturally guilty conscience heavier than three Catholics and seven puppies who've just been discovered digging through the trash, and I'll generally take culpability for anything, up to and including the whole of the economic collapse we're suffering right now).
I just want to say that I realized something this morning. That we might never have been on the same page. We were both speaking English, but we were never speaking the same language.
Reading the message inside the Christmas card, I realized that anytime I referred to a pit fighter, where I was thinking of a Jack Severino, fighting in a hole for money or for your life, she was thinking I was referring to fighting dogs. Specifically: Pitbulls.
Heh.
Ron Mexico, I am not.
Anyway. It's had me thinking most of the day.
About what, I'm not sure.
Communication? And how assumption of understanding is perhaps a dangerous, dangerous thing.
Perhaps.
My first thought was to sneer. But then I remembered that growing up, I thought the Cold War was being fought with Sudafed and Robitussin, and not the Soviets. So, we all have our word foibles, I suppose.
Of course, I was nine years old at the time...
Hurry Up post...I'm on a lab computer....
I was digging through my junk drawer this morning, trying to find a pair of gloves to wear to keep my hands from succumbing to frostbite in the short time it takes my truck heater to warm up. I found everything but...highlighter pens, a set of keys for a truck I no longer drive, roughly 80 feet of speaker wire. No gloves. I did run across a Christmas card from a year or so ago. It was from a girl I was getting to know...kinda flirting with I guess. Making my best efforts at a facsimile of it, all the same.
I'd been bugging her about training to be a "Pit Fighter."
It didn't mean anything...it's one of the many nonsense things I say over the course of a day. I'm often surprised and even confused when they pop out of my head, and this one was no different. It was just something that kinda ran as a running joke....we dealt with our stresses and stressors like a pit fighter would....
I looked at the Christmas card. We haven't spoken much since then...there was a falling out that I've decided was absolutely no fault of mine (and that's saying something, considering I carry around a naturally guilty conscience heavier than three Catholics and seven puppies who've just been discovered digging through the trash, and I'll generally take culpability for anything, up to and including the whole of the economic collapse we're suffering right now).
I just want to say that I realized something this morning. That we might never have been on the same page. We were both speaking English, but we were never speaking the same language.
Reading the message inside the Christmas card, I realized that anytime I referred to a pit fighter, where I was thinking of a Jack Severino, fighting in a hole for money or for your life, she was thinking I was referring to fighting dogs. Specifically: Pitbulls.
Heh.
Ron Mexico, I am not.
Anyway. It's had me thinking most of the day.
About what, I'm not sure.
Communication? And how assumption of understanding is perhaps a dangerous, dangerous thing.
Perhaps.
My first thought was to sneer. But then I remembered that growing up, I thought the Cold War was being fought with Sudafed and Robitussin, and not the Soviets. So, we all have our word foibles, I suppose.
Of course, I was nine years old at the time...
posted by Tommy at
17:37
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