01-26-00 Eastern Echo

Things I should not have said: A novel

How often had you said something and immediately wished you could take it back? For me that's a daily occurrence. I'm one of those people who speak before I think-it must be related to my childhood, where as the youngest in a family of five I had to talk fast and loud to be heard at all. (That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.) A child who says outrageous things can be excused as being exuberant, precocious or as having plain bad manners. An adult is expected to weigh the import of their words before speaking, to thoroughly consider the consequences of their oration before spewing forth in a room crowded with people. I can't do that. There is some connection between my brain and mouth that is supersonic fast, and so I speak my thoughts directly as they traverse my gray matter. Knowing I have this problem hasn't helped me curb my runaway tongue. Opening my mouth is a standing invitation for my foot to enter, and it's not until I see the looks on people's faces that I realize I'm talking like a jackass. I'm not a bad person, really. It just happens. When I say something stupid, and I hurt someone's feelings or even make them mad, I feel bad. Really bad. I obsess and worry and generally beat myself up for days (sometimes weeks) over every word, every nuance where I might have given offense. At this point you're probably thinking, "Ohhh, Linda needs therapy. I'll just email her the phone number of my therapist and help her overcome this terrible problem." Chances are I could probably benefit from a little time on the couch, but then I might find out that this is the least of my problems. (Have you heard that writers are the most neurotic people in the world? It's true.) Bet you a million bucks after only a few sessions I manage to totally alienate my therapist and get blackballed by every psychologist within fifty miles. So therapy is out. There is negative reinforcement therapy. I could put a rubber band around my wrist and every time something dumb issues forth from my talk box I would give that band a tug, snap, and eventually I'd learn to slow down and think before saying the words "cue ball" to a bald man. But then people would see me around campus yanking on this rubber band with a dull look on my face and probably assume the worst-masochism. Who would dare sit next to me in my classes, (since I always feel the need to respond to every question the teacher puts to the students), while I'm plucking away at my rubber band? It's not a pretty picture, is it? Perhaps I can have business cards made up with my name and a pick-an-apology already written on the back that reads, "I'm sorry I said that, I'm 1) having a bad day, 2) experiencing extreme PMS, 3) listening carefully to the voices in my head, 4) unaware of your existence--don't I look nice today?" That would work. Or wouldn't it be nice if we could live our lives digitally? Say something dumb, and zap! just back up and erase the offensive remark. Better yet, erase and replace the stupid remark with something clever instead. (This would also be helpful to those slow-responders who are never quick enough to parlay with the witty people-you know who you are. The ones who think of something an hour later and spend the rest of your lifetime trying to duplicate the conversation so you can use your cute comeback.) It seems unlikely I will solve this problem here, what with a pithy 675 words at my disposal. Just remember, should we meet somewhere on campus and stop for a quick chat, it's a good possibility that I'm going to say something really dumb. Prepare yourself for that possibility. Now that I've confessed this personal idiosyncrasy I feel so much better. They do say, "A problem shared is a problem halved." For my part I will try to slow down my racing brain and thoughtless tongue, and begin to consider the implications of my hasty words. If that doesn't help there's always the rubber band. �