The Crazy Head

I have lost the ability to verbally communicate.
This is unfortunate, seeing as I verbally communicate for a living.
I think this is some sort of sign from the Creative Powers That Be. Fate, or the planets or whatever else makes things happen (but not life, that's just too logical) is clearly trying to tell me something.

I've always been 150% better at writing than speaking. Yes, I can surpass my own intelligence in written form. I should be effin' studied.
Even when I was little, I didn't like to talk. I am incredibly shy and self-conscious, and knowing that everyone (whether 2 people or 200) can hear my voice is horrifying to me. I don't want people to hear my voice. Or say my name. Or talk about me. Ever. I know that's weird- my shrink bills are outrageous.

Reading and writing were always very comforting as I was growing up. I didn't like to be around groups of kids, so I would read while everyone else terrorized the neighbors with Super Soakers. I didn't feel lonely because I was still entertained and found companionship in the characters and stories.
I've spent most of my life absorbed in my own mess of never ending thought. The way my mind works is hard to explain. I can be completely oblivious to the world around me because I'm too busy thinking about other things to notice. However, I can also be excessively observant, most likely so I can have fresh material to over-analyze in my Crazy Head later on.
I have a constant dialogue in my mind. It can be really entertaining for me, I crack myself up, and a lot of what I write about stems from this. I think having that as a point of reference is what makes my struggle to effectively speak to people so frustrating. I have the witty thoughts, intelligent remarks, etc, but actually saying these aloud is never as effective.


I think I'm trying to make a point here...


I have gotten to the point at work where I will get really frustrated with myself because I cannot express what I'm thinking. And it doesn't improve in casual settings either- I've been having a hard time talking to Pretty as well. I'll try to tell him about my day but I can't find the right words to illustrate what I'm thinking.
The longer this goes on and the worse it seems to get, the more I realize that I need an outlet. I miss writing. I miss reading even more. I would do some pretty extreme/illegal things just to have time to read a book and be left alone.

The latest Harry Potter movie came via Netflix this week. I have issues with the movies, but I'll save that rant for another day. As cliche as it seems now, I'm obsessed with Harry Potter. Ob-freakin-sessed. My number one defense, as the Too Cool For School crowd collectively roll their eyes, is that I started reading this series when I was 13. There was a lot of awful shit going on in my life at this time. These stories have been so important to me these last 12 (oh GOD) years, not just because they are well thought-out and written (they really are) but also because they've created this comforting Safe Place.
Pretty isn't a reader, bless his heart. When the last HP book came out, he made me tell him how it all ends because he likes the story, just not the having-to-pick-up-a-book part. So after we finished the movie last night, he wanted to discuss how things were linked and what was coming next, etc. I was annoyed. Why? Because fucking pick up a book, a-hole, that's why.
God I'm rambly today.
I started reading the books to him last night. I figure we can both benefit from this- he gets to hear the whole story and not just what can be squeezed into a 2-hour movie, and I get to read again while also speaking.
Win/win?

In summary, I need to read again. And write. And keep track of the useful thoughts for future blogs/ art projects. And get my art studio up and moving.

Easier said than done?