Small Talk

I avoid small talk.
 
That is the result of two traits I have. One, I am shy. Painfully. I usually can overcome it in short bursts but I can’t keep that up for very long without having an anxiety attack. Lisa is good at recognizing that and usually appears at my side to ask if I’m ready to go home right at that moment. Just another of her many superpowers.
 
Two, I am arrogant.
 
Or so I’ve been told. Repeatedly. I find that small talk often requires you to pretend you don’t know something that you do know. I just can’t do that. I know what I know. So, I don’t ask questions about things I don’t have questions about. People see that as disinterest in them personally. Though it isn’t. It is the exact opposite. It’s intense interest in them personally. An interest that doesn’t have time for pretense. An interest in what is new and now in their life. Not rehashing old news. Again.
 
They don’t see it that way. The disinterest that isn’t there but they see offends them. That sense of offense then leads them to believe that whatever is going on is my fault. And, since I don’t seem to care, I must be arrogant.
 
So I avoid small talk.
Just so you know,
Eliot

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