There was this scene in a TBBT episode that had me nodding in agreement – that show can be creepily accurate about me sometimes.
Sheldon Cooper: I wish you could all be inside my head. The conversation is sparkling.
Testify, my good man. Testify.
How I can be such a scintillating conversationalist in my head (if I say so myself) and be woefully inarticulate in real life is a constant source of frustration for me.
The last conversation I had with my boss, for example, went something like this:
Boss: Your mom is waiting for you downstairs.
Me: I have this article to finish because this extremely inconsiderate person gave me the details at the very last minute and this need to get out because their event is on Friday.
Boss: (pause) Aaah, so you need to submit the article to me today. That’s why you’re still here.
Me: Uhm. Yes.
THAT WAS SUCH AN OFF TANGENT REMARK THAT MY BOSS HAD TO WORK THROUGH IT TO GET MY MEANING. FLOOR, PLEASE SWALLOW ME NOW!
This, and this being the example above, may have something to do with the fact that I am desperately trying to fit in with the new work environment. I usually can carry a decent conversation but as resident fresh meat, I am so preoccupied with tiptoeing through the social niceties that I forget how to talk like the adult that I am.
Everything I do and say, at this point in time, is guaranteed to be complete dumbassery.
Another problem is that I tend to like things that are not really, er, mainstream. I watch shows, read books and listen to stuff that no one in my side of the globe has heard of before. There’s a conversational impasse before I can even begin talking.
This does not only happen at work – I don’t have anybody to talk to at home, either, because according to my cousins, I am too weird. Story of my life, folks.
So, basically, I end up talking to myself most of the time. My most stellar conversations and monologues occur in my head with imaginary people. Really, these conversations are all stimulating and lovely, if not a bit lonely.
There’s a lot of geekery, of course. Discussions on the merit of a porn video that was, surprisingly, well-written. Discourses on why a pessimist is secretly an optimist, and how I am actually a really awesome person.
How everyone deserves to find happiness in the knowledge that they are loved and cherished. Thoughts on intimacy and on how I cannot imagine myself in a physically intimate relationship because I can imagine others having sex but never me.
How I never seem to recall the details of my own face and how my childhood memories are layered in a grayish patina when a sepia tone would be more stylish.
Then, there are those pretensions of grandeur and fame. The speech I would give if I win an Oscar. Imaginary feuds with people both imaginary and real.
How the apostle Paul was a tad bit sexist. How the Church can be really harsh to women.
The archetype of the ideal doctor – Doctor House or Doctor Who.
Flying in moments that are neither here nor there.
That one time we saved the world.
Tons of nostalgia, and broken and recycled dreams.
How we never know what to say in sad situations because the words that can fully encapsulate grief, pain and the loss of a loved one have not been created yet.
And of course, that secret plot to be master of the Universe.