Talk to the hand

The toughest part about being a stay home mom has gotta be the death of adult conversation (No, not THAT kind of adult conversation). Me, I’m a conversation junkie, so its like taking away heroin from an addict or candy from a kid.

I used to play this game when I was a kid where everyone keeps quiet and the first person to speak loses. I majorly sucked at it. I was always the kid that had to say something first. Or else I would go into withdrawal and start twitching uncontrollably. Anyway, awkward silences make me nervous.

Now, there’s just complete silence at home, except for my son’s occasional shrieks (mostly in the key of E minor), which I have successfully tuned out as ambient noise. There isn’t any office gossip, juicy updates or intelligent conversation to go around (Tru, mama thinks you’re a genius, but I just need some time to decode the shrieks), and my brain feels like its gone into permanent hibernation.

When it gets really bad, I sometimes go on a 2-hour soliloquy. I also talk to the ants (before I crush them), birds (mostly curses), and other animals unfortunate enough to venture into my house. But the satisfaction is just not the same. There’s also a nasty side effect. I get so used to talking to inanimate objects that I forget I’m doing it outside sometimes, which makes me look like a total fruitcake.

And so I write. But it’s still a monologue, with the occasional response from you nice people. It’s kind of depressing, really. Now I know why people go for those extortionate chat lines that charge you $50 an hour. The only thing that stopped me was the long and unpleasant conversation I would have with the husband after he finds out.

So do me a favor. Send a little conversation my way so I don’t go down the slippery slope of schizophrenia.