I must word all the time.

I can’t shut up. I talk like a endless babbling brook, noting the time of day and the je ne ses quoi of the air. The timbre of the aura of ennui. They are just words, and they flow like cotton candy on a fingertip placed in the spinning machine just to become covered in meaningless fluff and then swallowed by my gurgling lips one mouthful after another.

I got it from my mom. “What’s this?” is her favorite question. When vacationing in Mexico, she stops to examine every flower, every sculpture, every view of the Caribbean sea. And each one comes with a question, or exclamation. What do you think this is made of? Who was the first person to see this particular view? How do you feel about this color? What inspired the architect?

As if by speaking the words out loud, they somehow mark the experiences in the ether, caught in aural vibrations that will have butterfly effects through time. Without the words, it might not be as real. Where did the blue corn come from? Is it local? She asks every time we are served blue corn tortillas when she knows nothing grows in the Yucatan. Everything comes from elsewhere, like us. But she asks anyway.

Isn’t that beautiful? I love the flamingo statues in the pool that have eggs as bodies. Do you think we have time to get a selfie by the waterfall before lunch? What plant is that, I wonder? Is it native?

We connect to each other through the words. We stitch our lives together and weave ourselves into the place we find ourselves through the mental images we share. Our synapses further stimulated to created lasting patterns by the back and forth of pointless banter. I forgot running shoes. Is that woman from Brazil or Colombia? Should we order room service.

Mom taught me to ask questions about everything. Ask everyone. Ask anything. And tell people what you know! A good story is just as real as a bleeding thumb pricked by the thorn of a dirty pink rose. A good laugh from a pun is just as thrilling as a roller coaster and you can relive the pun anywhere any time.

Words to string the days. Words to fill the void. Words to connect the dots. Words to collect the people and tie them to the moments. Words to take note of it all. I need words. I must word all the time. My mental addition. I meditate to fight the onslaught of the mad monkey brain. I think of Spongebob in Britney Spears’ black sequin bikini chasing jellies with a butterfly net. And when  I think of that – well I have no words!