Thursday, February 3, 2011

My Very Own Saint

I have realized how I am high-maintenance in my relationships. I process my very busy internal world by blathering. Sometimes senselessly. (Sorry.) I just got off the phone with my dear friend Summer. A very small decision needed to be made. By small, I mean literally the difference between sandwiches and pizza. (Sorry, Summer.) A ten minute conversation could have been captured in one question to my very wise, very patient friend. "Is it too much to ask parents to donate a pizza?" That would take four seconds to say and probably four seconds for my very decisive, very patient friend to answer. This equals eight seconds. Instead I took up nine minutes and 52 seconds of extra air time. (Sorry, Summer.) That is 592 seconds of my very busy, very patient friend's life she can never get back. Not to mention how much of that was me interrupting my own half sentences. "Subway has their $5 would...well...still...yeah...our boys eat entire footlongs for a meal. That's a lot of sandwiches." (Sorry, Summer.) So my very gentle, very patient friend is forced to say a lot of things like "Help me know where you're going with this". And sometimes she even takes the blame herself. "I am not doing a very good job following you." But we all know it's really me. (Sorry, Summer.)

Be warned. Blather is the price of admission to be my friend. I gotta do my thang, yo'.

You know what they say. Fully known, fully loved.

(Thank you, St. Summer.)

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