Chatting Bubbles - procrastination # 20292747656
In one day, it has been implied twice over the phone that I'm living in the stone age. Not everyone has a microwave oven; my family can't be the only ones. Saying that, there are undoubtedly disadvantages of not owning one.
It's one of those "in things", the second person on the phone to me today mused after having asked me whether I own a hairdryer/straighteners, then remembering I have neither TV nor microwave oven. Like furbies. I killed mine after a week, ruthlessly took out the batteries and flung them from the window and into the drain where they basked acidicly for months.
Microwaves don't make food taste good, is my defense. (I never got over the soggy scrambled egg a friend microwaved for me.) Apart from the whole bread-butter-peanut butter combination, the second person said, knowing full-well that the mere idea of butter AND peanut butter on the same slice of bread is WRONG BEYOND BELIEF, and disgusts me to no end.
I was lucky to be alive for the furby comparison. It came after I'd raced from my chair at the computer in my attic room to the ringing phone two flights down. Stubbed my toe, fell over the wire and crashed breathlessly with the phone into the glowing Gadget Shop clock. I am so immensely clumsy with a reciever pressed to my ear. Perhaps it sends out malicious, brain-cell eating signals. Tripping over things, janking the wire from the socket, stretching in the armchair with phone pressed between ear and shoulder, only to slide off onto the hard terracotta tiles. Pulling the bedside light above my parents bed from the wall and onto my head with my feet. (Don't ask.) Tipping a glass of water over the phone, accidentally pressing the hash/secrecy buttons.
Not only do I display a great aptitude for physical clumsiness, but also linguistic clumsiness. Half-finished sentences, lengthy monologues, the premature fizzling out of rants, and spoonerisms. Already sketchy dialogue made sketchier by groans of frustration when I forget a word, or more often, a whole sentence.
When it's late and I'm tired, I give up talking completely, in the hope my breathing says it all. In the hope the person at the end of the line reads minds. I listen, occassionally punctuate the stream of talking with sleepy nods, before realising a nod cannot be heard on the other side of the line, and mmmhhmm-ing drowsily. Even that often isn't picked up, sound obstructed by the arm slung over my face in the dark, coming between mouth and the little pinprick dots on the mouthpiece of the phone.
I am so much better face-to-face. The 3D me is far more coherent. She does not chat bubbles. The real, face-to-face me is less (painfully-)conscious of stumbling sentences. The real me makes up for unfinished thoughts with the pull of a face, a cheeky grin, a touch of the fingertips. A shrug, raised eyebrows, the pulling down of mouth corners. The real me does not giggle stupidly for a long time while, before noticing in a flurry of panic that the giggling just won't stop, even if I bite down on my lips very very hard, and think about sad things. The real me MAKES SENSE, and will not provoke a pitying shake of the head, a snort of laughter, or even an 'awwww, that's cute.' (I like to think the real me inspires such a phrase without me having to embarrass myself hugely first.)
My eloquence in person shocks those who regularly phone. It is not unknown for these people to stand and gape for a long time, mouth open. Catching flies. Sometimes I feign incoherency, preferring the amused pity to silent shock.
(A walk-about phone would be nice pleasethankyou. I shall chant for one, in true Eddie style.)
And now for something different. A panda.
It's one of those "in things", the second person on the phone to me today mused after having asked me whether I own a hairdryer/straighteners, then remembering I have neither TV nor microwave oven. Like furbies. I killed mine after a week, ruthlessly took out the batteries and flung them from the window and into the drain where they basked acidicly for months.
Microwaves don't make food taste good, is my defense. (I never got over the soggy scrambled egg a friend microwaved for me.) Apart from the whole bread-butter-peanut butter combination, the second person said, knowing full-well that the mere idea of butter AND peanut butter on the same slice of bread is WRONG BEYOND BELIEF, and disgusts me to no end.
I was lucky to be alive for the furby comparison. It came after I'd raced from my chair at the computer in my attic room to the ringing phone two flights down. Stubbed my toe, fell over the wire and crashed breathlessly with the phone into the glowing Gadget Shop clock. I am so immensely clumsy with a reciever pressed to my ear. Perhaps it sends out malicious, brain-cell eating signals. Tripping over things, janking the wire from the socket, stretching in the armchair with phone pressed between ear and shoulder, only to slide off onto the hard terracotta tiles. Pulling the bedside light above my parents bed from the wall and onto my head with my feet. (Don't ask.) Tipping a glass of water over the phone, accidentally pressing the hash/secrecy buttons.
Not only do I display a great aptitude for physical clumsiness, but also linguistic clumsiness. Half-finished sentences, lengthy monologues, the premature fizzling out of rants, and spoonerisms. Already sketchy dialogue made sketchier by groans of frustration when I forget a word, or more often, a whole sentence.
When it's late and I'm tired, I give up talking completely, in the hope my breathing says it all. In the hope the person at the end of the line reads minds. I listen, occassionally punctuate the stream of talking with sleepy nods, before realising a nod cannot be heard on the other side of the line, and mmmhhmm-ing drowsily. Even that often isn't picked up, sound obstructed by the arm slung over my face in the dark, coming between mouth and the little pinprick dots on the mouthpiece of the phone.
I am so much better face-to-face. The 3D me is far more coherent. She does not chat bubbles. The real, face-to-face me is less (painfully-)conscious of stumbling sentences. The real me makes up for unfinished thoughts with the pull of a face, a cheeky grin, a touch of the fingertips. A shrug, raised eyebrows, the pulling down of mouth corners. The real me does not giggle stupidly for a long time while, before noticing in a flurry of panic that the giggling just won't stop, even if I bite down on my lips very very hard, and think about sad things. The real me MAKES SENSE, and will not provoke a pitying shake of the head, a snort of laughter, or even an 'awwww, that's cute.' (I like to think the real me inspires such a phrase without me having to embarrass myself hugely first.)
My eloquence in person shocks those who regularly phone. It is not unknown for these people to stand and gape for a long time, mouth open. Catching flies. Sometimes I feign incoherency, preferring the amused pity to silent shock.
(A walk-about phone would be nice pleasethankyou. I shall chant for one, in true Eddie style.)
And now for something different. A panda.
kiwiqueen - 18. May, 13:14