Work 22: Wasted Words

I am in a thoughtful mood today, and it has me paging through recent journal entries. Its good that memories both remembered and forgotten can be made tangible in pen and paper. I forgot about this entry, but I recall the sentiment.

Explicitly it is now a matter of confidence. Perhaps it has always been, only now it is so apparent. My voice is not as immediate nor loud as it should be. Therefore I speak in suggestions and speculations, not plans and beliefs. The words are far between and lame by qualification. In letting others speak first I swallow that which sits ready on my lips. A sober tongue is a stagnant tongue. I say all this, and still I am mostly talk. For what little I say, I am more word than action. I get excited about something and I talk it to death. I literally continue to bring it up until it fizzles out. Never happens. An idea put to waste. I am where good ideas go to die.