Affective Communication

Affective Communication




First of all I have no idea what I'm going to write about. The only thing I can say for certain is that it should make you lol...for real.

In my day to day routine I meet many new people. I find myself in all kinds of situations where I wonder to myself, how did I get here? I'm not that smart but what scares me more is how many people I really feel like are not as smart as me. I don't say that to be arrogant. It's a fact and facts aren't arrogant.

What makes me different than most successful folks is that I'm a wanderer. It's that same wandering that makes me not as successful as said folks. I'm hot and cold and lackadaisical at best. I'm considered a high achiever in my work place and all the while I'm aggravated with the confines of an office and the fact that I lose a little bit of freedom with every day that I trade for a paycheck. I have little time to myself, not just because of my job, but because I have a family. That is my own fault, not in a negative sense; I love having a little family. It just means that as I type this I get to do so in silence as not to wake the baby and listen to the muffled tones of elementary "learning" music that my wife is considering for her classroom.

Did I mention I'm not good at typing? I'm not. It makes this entire process all that much more frustrating. My delete key is struggling. The random remarks and subject matter presented in this memo, letter, book, whatever it turns out to be are as sporadic as my thoughts in the hours I'm awake and in the dreams I can find time to remember.

So, what's the point? The point will be discovered in the future possibly sooner than later, possibly later than sooner. You see, I thought the title was catchy because it's grammatically incorrect. I really hope that you knew that when you read it. That's the fun of such a bold mistake on the cover of a memo, letter, book etc. If you didn't catch that mistake then you're another one of "those" people that I'm smarter than. It's ok if you are, one small BS degree from a middle class state college and we'll be the two best friends that anyone could have.

I sat in a meeting the other day at work facing a client. The client explained her problems and concerns. And then she farted. I was told by an English professor in college that you can't start a sentence with "and" unless you've been published. I'm pretty sure that was her egotistical way of explaining that we better write by the rules in her class. Luckily, this isn't for her to correct. What if this was actually published? I'd be to books what rappers are to music. No real depth, no real talent, just me.

Let's talk about farts for just a moment. I know it's rude and crude and not proper, blah, blah, blah. As long as you don't start reading aloud at random no one will know we're talking about the stinky. I just started calling it the stinky since I've become a parent. Something about stinky sounds much more appropriate than "did you just make a little shit?" (Insert baby-talking voice). Anyway, focus here. Farting. Work. Pretty much one of the only consistent conversations you will ever have with any coworkers that you really like. If the people you talk with are still talking about weather and weekend plans, I don't know how to tell you this, but they're just not that into you.

In the office where I work there is a hallway with a table. This is like the community table. It's where fundraiser flyers and sign up sheets get posted, it's where chicken plates that everyone ordered get dropped off, it's where the newspaper gets a modest glance, it's where 3 day old cakes go to die. It's also in front of the only restroom in the entire building. Do you see where this is going? I sure hope so it's pretty obvious. We have at my office a few men (and I'm usually not one of them) that like to leave what I like to think of as an "I was here" mark in the bathroom. They do so religiously every day between 9:30 and 9:42AM or 12:56-1:07PM. No joke, if you let me pick the menu I could set any clock you want. What's even more interesting is that they always have the need to tell me about it afterwards...which begs the question, what's the point of good friends? The story always starts the same, "Man, I thought I was going to shit my pants" and ends with "I had to flush twice to get the corn to go away". All the while I was hoping to hear that today was actually the day that he had, in fact, shit his pants.

Moving on.