Relentless

Most of the people who have known me for any length of time understand that you never know what I might say next. My little brother always told me that I wasn't necessarily funny, I was just relentless. Just wear em' down. Go for quantity not quality. Maybe, but really I just love to talk. Believe it or not, I do recognize that glazed over look others give me when they are tuning me out, and while it does deter me, it wont stop me. Maybe I am relentless.
According to my parents I "came out talking". I know what they mean, but it's a scary image if you really think about it. As a little baby I told a stranger in the grocery store to " put it back in the sack" when she touched something in our buggy. That must have been weird because the stunned lady turned and walked away. I imagine she looked over her shoulder a time or two because a talking baby is horror movie material, second only to a talking doll. But I had things to say. Still do.
My parents were as tolerate as could be expected. I realize now why they encouraged me to read so much. It was one of the few times my mouth wasn't moving and I was still. Because along with lots to say, I was what old people called "busy". The antiquated version of hyper! Luckily my folks chose not to medicate me. It was popular at the time, but I think their was some fine tuning still to be done on those drugs. Probably still is. But I also realize now that nobody asked me very many questions. If I was not already speaking, why start me up? Just enjoy the peace and quiet because it wont last.
But I love conversation. Always have. As a baby my daughter was the same way. She was ready to communicate! I don't know the real truth about how early I did start talking, but I remember when she did. She started off babbling when she was 5-6 months old and graduated to conversations before she could walk. She either had a lot to say, or was simply trying to get a word in edgewise. Hard to say. But I do know that conversation is contagious. When we get out of the car at home we are greeted by a dog that gives us a 10-12 syllable welcome home. The longer we have been gone, the longer the greeting! I guess he has no one to talk to while we're away.
The biggest problem with talking so much is that you become very familiar with the taste of your own foot. The odds of your saying the wrong thing are greatly increased. I had a friend that was murdered several years ago in Alabama. He had been at my house in Georgia the day before and I was one of the last people to see him alive. The local detectivies had bogged down on solving the case and called me to see if I could offer any tidbit that would help find some answers. They decided to come to Georgia and interview several people that knew the victim. This was fine with me and I was really hoping I could help. When they showed up a few days later and got out of the car in front of my office I was shocked to discover that there were five of them. Hadn't counted on this and I was unsure how I would fit them in my tiny office. It kind of made me nervous as well. As it turned out only one man spoke. The other four took notes and basically just glared at me. No smile, no frown, no emotion whatsoever. Now I was really nervous.
Well I made it through the "interview" without crapping my pants, but I was rambling on like a talk show host. I walked them to their car and while they were handing me business cards and finally making small talk I asked them where exactly the body was found. They told me the location and I said....."huh, my brother lives a few miles from there". There goes the foot!
Well they left anyway, but not before they looked at each other and back at me for a few seconds then shook their heads, eyebrows raised. I was so glad when they finally got in the car and drove away. To this day I think they felt sorry for me. Why in the hell I added that little bit of information (that amounted to nothing) at the end of the interview still puzzles me. I guess I am relentless.