Bad habit, no biscuit.
I interrupt! I speak quickly, as the thought enters my head. I run roughshod over the words of others. These errors were pointed out to me by several people over the course of last week, with that peculiar simultaneity that personal criticism seems to have. I am, as you might expect, attempting to spackle the crack in my shining exterior.
There are two horns to this particular mixed metaphor. On the one horn, in academic contexts, it is simple impatience and eagerness. On the other horn, at social events, it is a sort of defensive gesture, born of anxiety. (Neither is particularly attractive, I realize.) The academic horn requires concerted attention, but I feel more confident that I can master quietness and waiting my turn. It is a project that I feel I can undertake. The social horn is less thrilling to contemplate.
One possible solution for this second horn is to speak only so often as I really feel like speaking. I am actually a rather quiet person, when I stop caring about whether or not I'm making a good impression! I tried this technique on Saturday, when I was out with T. T then inquired at various points whether I was sick, or tired, or perhaps angry with him. This strategy will take some adjustment, in other words, on my part and on the part of others. For my part, I can't speak as much as I want to speak, in either direction. It's frustrating. Still, I think it can be achieved.
(If you see me in the real world -- as it were -- please don't bring this up. The nature of the error makes me feel like a child being scolded by my elders. Appropriately, my first reaction is to cry. This will only be embarrassing for everyone involved.)
On a happier note, the arduous nature of the task, and the pressure it adds to already-fraught social situations, means that I have allowed myself to renege on three other goals. I will pick up change from the sidewalk (even though it interrupts conversations and is dirty), I will cross myself when I see police cars or ambulances (even though it's sort of ostentatious), and I will pick my nose. Go on, call me a scrounging holy-roller of a nose-picker-- I won't interrupt.
I went out dancing last night, thinking it would be an opportunity to practice this, but no one I knew very well actually showed up. I danced for a few hours, and then walked home. I was very quiet all evening, at any rate! Today I am in the library grading papers, but I will be going out with T again tonight. My stomach hurts at the prospect of managing my talk -- probably from that same childish embarrassment and self-consciousness, on top of social anxiety -- but it'll pass.
Anyway, my life is not so very hard. I think I will have a rough draft of a chapter completed by the end of this week! Crazy, man, crazy.
There are two horns to this particular mixed metaphor. On the one horn, in academic contexts, it is simple impatience and eagerness. On the other horn, at social events, it is a sort of defensive gesture, born of anxiety. (Neither is particularly attractive, I realize.) The academic horn requires concerted attention, but I feel more confident that I can master quietness and waiting my turn. It is a project that I feel I can undertake. The social horn is less thrilling to contemplate.
One possible solution for this second horn is to speak only so often as I really feel like speaking. I am actually a rather quiet person, when I stop caring about whether or not I'm making a good impression! I tried this technique on Saturday, when I was out with T. T then inquired at various points whether I was sick, or tired, or perhaps angry with him. This strategy will take some adjustment, in other words, on my part and on the part of others. For my part, I can't speak as much as I want to speak, in either direction. It's frustrating. Still, I think it can be achieved.
(If you see me in the real world -- as it were -- please don't bring this up. The nature of the error makes me feel like a child being scolded by my elders. Appropriately, my first reaction is to cry. This will only be embarrassing for everyone involved.)
On a happier note, the arduous nature of the task, and the pressure it adds to already-fraught social situations, means that I have allowed myself to renege on three other goals. I will pick up change from the sidewalk (even though it interrupts conversations and is dirty), I will cross myself when I see police cars or ambulances (even though it's sort of ostentatious), and I will pick my nose. Go on, call me a scrounging holy-roller of a nose-picker-- I won't interrupt.
I went out dancing last night, thinking it would be an opportunity to practice this, but no one I knew very well actually showed up. I danced for a few hours, and then walked home. I was very quiet all evening, at any rate! Today I am in the library grading papers, but I will be going out with T again tonight. My stomach hurts at the prospect of managing my talk -- probably from that same childish embarrassment and self-consciousness, on top of social anxiety -- but it'll pass.
Anyway, my life is not so very hard. I think I will have a rough draft of a chapter completed by the end of this week! Crazy, man, crazy.