When I told my husband I was going to blog tonight I had no idea his comments would provide the basis for my thoughts.
Sometimes when I talk to him, he’ll say, “I thought you were a writer.”
I know the man loves me and wants what’s best for me, and he likes to kid me as well. So tonight when I told him I always put the horse before the cart, Craig told me that’s the correct way for the line up – horse before the cart. We both laughed.
I admitted I wanted to match make for someone I care about and I told Craig I was not going to do that. I don’t know exactly how I said it, but he had to clarify it to understand. “I had not match maked. I was not going to match make.”
“I will not match make.”
“Better,” he said. “Clearer.”
See, there is one problem with writing for communication. There’s always the need to re-write. I know this deep in my bones. So, I can’t really say, but I wonder if I speak now with less thought because I’ve been programming myself for years to just get the words out and worry about editing them later. As a sanguine, that’s my propensity anyhow. Man, I could be in big trouble.
Although, I have to admit that I ask God to guard my heart. I ask Him to guard my tongue. I ask God to help me not to say things I shouldn’t say, just to be perfectly clear. Like He needs that. lol
I’m always aware of words whenever I have surgery. I pray, please don’t let me embarrass myself when I’m out of it.
Once, an anesthesiologist told me I didn’t like it when I was under. I asked him, “Why, what did I say?”
He wouldn’t tell me. I remember seeing lights and a ceiling and I was moving forward and up and I was telling God I wasn’t ready to go. Not that I knew for certain that I was dying. I started telling God I still had stuff to do here. So, maybe that’s what he heard.
I don’t know and I’ll never know, or so it seems. I don’t remember ever seeing an anesthesiologist more than once, except for that time.
How’s your communication. Do you speak clearly? Do you have close family or friends that will tell you you’re not coming across in an understandable manner. I like my husband to read my writing because I trust his judgment, but he doesn’t like to do that for me. Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. Maybe he hates editing. I don’t know. But I don’t push it much. Hey, I didn’t marry him to be my editor. That never crossed my mind.