Surface

I am socially inept. It's manageable (mostly), but if I have been out of social settings for any length of time, I am apt to behave maniacally when thrown back in. Hence, my apprehension when returning to the workforce last year. At first I was able to cope by strapping ballast to my ankles and diving deep into the social pool. Most everyone at work thought I was a quiet, shy, solicitous being because, at first, I would smile in lieu of an answer or laugh in lieu of a reply. I kept this up so long I almost began to believe it myself; but as I grew comfortable, I was unable to hold.

I have always been unable to hold. As a little girl, if I was allowed even a smidgen of attention in a social gathering, I would take on the manic behavior of a starving prisoner set free. I would grow louder, talk faster, perform verbal tricks, sing the words to a song I didn't understand in Portuguese, and do impressions - all in order to garner every ounce of attention in the room - everything short of screaming, "Look at me!", "Laugh at me!". My father knew these episodes well enough to step in, ordering the crowd: "Don't feed the coon!"  These days, I am on my own.

After a year at work, I began, helplessly, to jettison my ballast, and float toward the surface. There were pauses on the upward journey because I sometimes drew inward (to incubate), preparing for future outburst. This would not be negative if  I was not so ultimately inappropriate. It's true that "Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaketh" because when I eventually surfaced, the fount of it burst forth with me.

On the day following these episodes, I feel headachey and drained - all dry-mouthed and bereft. I liken it to the state of a person who has imbibed too freely the night before. It must be, as I feel the need to make up for it the entire next year. I commit to never speaking again. I mentally screw on every cap, tie up every thought, zip up every lip, and batten down every hatch. But I am really only incubating once more.

It is always inevitable that I will resurface. I actually have no choice, or possibly no control. At work, there is not a calendar I have not filled in with my co-worker's embarrassing doctor's appointments; there is not a piece of paper I have not left a stupid comment on; there is not a single mistake I haven't blamed on someone else (in writing); there is not a corner of the store I haven't yelled and waved from; there is not a private joke I haven't hit, run over, and dragged along; there is not a corporate fax I haven't been tempted to tamper with; there is not a rude sign I haven't left on a cabinet; there is not a telephone message I have not drawn hearts and flowers on; there is not a pretend conversation I haven't had over the phone; there is not a thought I haven't spoken aloud before thinking, and that does not even touch my behavior with the seven-foot porter. My inappropriateness is staggering. I have shocked even myself. Every bit of restraint I exert on myself is at a cost, and I am constantly exerting it........to no avail.

I freely admit it:  My name is Stacey Henderson and I am a coon.   Feed me.