Conversations

I am not a very good conversationalist. I checkout out of conversations and rely on stock phrases to appear interested:

That’s funny.

Interesting.

You think so?

How do you mean?

Maybe.

Really?

Eloise, my fiancée, calls this Autopilot Chris. She even has games she plays with me when she realizes that I am not fully committed to the conversation. Most of the time it’s nonsense, and when I feign interest in the absurd or overtly perverted remarks engineered to get my attention, her point has been proven well enough. Occasionally, she will throw our daughter’s toys at me. Or knock whatever I’m reading out of my hands.

 

In groups I often feel like the only way to contribute is talk about myself, and even I grow tired of that. Most of the time.

 

In groups of guys, I usually have nothing to contribute to discussion. I don’t like sports; I don’t drink or smoke cigars. I’m a head nodding master.

 

Formalities escape me. I can forget to ask someone how they are, in as little time it takes me to respond to the same question. I will prattle on about something I’ve done or am doing and not realize that whoever I am talking to has been saying:

That’s funny.

Interesting.

You think so?

How do you mean?

Maybe.

Really?

Sometimes I don’t even care. I just like to hear myself talking.

I value my opinion more than most other peoples, which must mean that I think what I have to say is more important.

I don’t listen enough.

I write this blog, which isn’t a conversation, really. It’s really just me talking and some of my friends and family reading (which I am super thankful for).

I write poems.

I’m a horrible conversationalist.

 

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Record a conversation between you and someone else.

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