Some days I do a lot more listening than I do talking. Granted, once you get me talking it is sometimes difficult to get me to shut up again. I got things to say out loud now and then.
But I tend to do alot of listening. I guess I got one of those faces.
I don't tend to listen to the inmates so much. Although on occasion if one of them needs to vent and they aren't screaming or making threats I have been known to stand there and allow them to let off a little steam. That depends on my mood and their vocabulary.
But when it comes to those of us who are of the non-incarcerated variety, it seems like I am one of the people that get sought out when someone needs to rant about something. Or just bounce ideas around. Or talk about something cool.
Apparently I'm a fair to middlin' good listener.
I got talked to alot tonight. More than usual. Everybody I met had something they wanted to say.
Even on the way home. Normally I'll just crank up my music and drive home on autopilot. Lately I have been jamming to Tom Petty. Peggy Sue came by the other night and had on a Tom Petty concert shirt and that music stuck in my mind. Especially after that big squeezy hug.
Anyway, I gave the Watcher a ride home tonight and he had something on his mind. Something happened down in the Hive that had the potential to go very wrong and the situation got aggravated and almost made worse by people who try to make things more difficult than they should be. It didn't go bad but it was apparently quite aggravating and he needed to let some things go.
I was cool with that. I though to myself "Should I be Sigmund Freud or Father Confessor?" Since Sigmund had some unsavory and expensive habits I decided to go the other route.
I lowered my chin to my chest, eyes half closed. My hands folded across my chest. A perfect picture of someone listening and sympathizing. Nodding understandingly now and then and making little "yes, do go on" noises.
Then I suddenly realized "Oh snap! I'm driving!"
Real good thing I remembered that. Could have gone really bad.
But he got it all off of his chest and seemed happier by the time I let him off at home. A little more relieved, anyway. Not quite so aggravated and tightly wrapped.
I was glad to help. Especially if it's just to listen and agree.
And as soon as I drove off again I cranked Tom Petty back up and made myself happier all the way home.
All right. Take it easy baby. Make it last all night.
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