OH I KNOW I TALK TOO MUCH.

Good morning. It is five O:clock and I have been up since four. I should have already had this at least partly written. But I do not. Two little dogs who do not know if they want in or out has kept me bouncing from the chair to the door. Now I think they have settled down and maybe I can get this written.

Maybe I am using them for a excuse if I must be honest. Because no matter how hard I try, I cannot get words together this morning . So it looks like another babbling day in blogland. Of course in my part of Blogland that is what it usually turns out to be. Babel.

I am not sure at what age I realized I talked much more than anyone in my family. Maybe at age seven when I strolled the neighborhood talking to all my imaginary friends who lived in various places. I mentioned this before on here. A woman who lived in the garbage can. A man who lived in a bucket that sat on a stand the neighbor man built to put scraps in for his chickens. I would take the oatmeal pan out after breakfast, beating it on the side of the pole. Mr. Brown here's your oatmeal. I carried on quite a conversation as I beat the day lights out of the pan. Mom always got on me for it but I continued to do it. Why she didn't put the scraps on something like a paper towel I do not know. Maybe we didn't even have paper towels back then, I can't remember.

There was also a man who lived up the telephone pole. I must have been quite a sight as I stood, neck stretched upward and talked to him. I asked him questions, laughed with him. Wow, looking back I realize why Mom always thought I was the goofy one. I would prefer if you don't mind to call it imagination. And maybe I talked so much my family tuned me out and I had to make friends up. I really am not sure. But I loved to communicate, even back then.

People who are very quiet make me nervous. You don't know whats going on with them. When I am with someone who is that quiet I always try to compensate for their quietness by talking non-stop. Pretty soon I hear this noise that is called constant chatter. I think, "Who in the heck is that?" Then I realize its me. Oops, sorry. I just get nervous if I am in the presence of someone who just sits staring off into space. "Excuse me," I want to say. "I'm here, talk to me." But then not everyone has that need in them I guess. But really thats okay as I talk enough for both of us.

Well I have rambled on again. And reading back over this I realize I write like I talk, non-stop, making little sense. But I guess that's just the way I am. Some things you just can't change. So for now, I'm outta here.