“I could hear people getting bored with me, but I couldn’t stop. It just kept coming up like word vomit.” -Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls
So, I’m a bit of a talker. Actually, to say I’m “a bit of a talker” is an understatement. Those that know and love me can attest to the fact that I’m a hard-core extrovert. I will talk till dinner plates get cold, till I’m running late for appointments, till people are getting irritated with me. In fact, I do this to my husband on a regular basis.
Night shift can be rough. Our conversations on those days are brief and generic, usually limited to “How did you sleep?” “Did the baby take a good nap today?” “How was work?” etc. Dogs don’t talk back and L’s vocabulary is limited to toddler necessities such as “Elmo,” “Cake,” “Poopy,” and “No.” Sure, I have co-workers and friends to keep me company, but it’s not the same as JD. He is my ultimate best friend- he’s the one who I tell everything to.
On the nights he’s working, I’m like a balloon, slowly inflating with words that I’m unable to share with him. By the time his off day rolls around, I’m ready to pop. Although he’s slept all day and it’s mid-afternoon when he gets up, I know – I KNOW – I should give him at least a few minutes to wake up. He doesn’t like to be assaulted with my blur of thoughts any more than I like him to crawl into bed early in the morning after a night shift and start rambling about hookers, drugs, and gang members. But my need to talk is a compulsion, and after the build-up of being away from him for a few days, I can’t help but vomit out the words as he stares off into space, silently begging me to stop talking. Being the good sport he is, though, he sits there patiently while I ramble on about the shoes I ordered for L, the latest Facebook drama, or how delicious the taco truck that comes to my office is. Does he retain any of the information? Probably not, but it makes me feel better. And this is how I know my husband loves me.