My garrulity and loudness have long been an embarrassment to me – as they also have been to many of my friends. The only thing that shuts me up – and down – is deep depression, which is obviously not a preferable state. I’ve been especially gabby lately, and have found people ending conversations abruptly. I was reminded of something I wrote many years ago in this space:

At the end of party I went to recently, a woman told me that I talk too much.  I didn’t know how to respond, and left the party shortly afterwards, a bit confounded and mute, and afflicted with what the French call l’esprit d’escalier – “the wit of the staircase” – i.e., my mind began filling with all sorts of things I should or could have said.

So:  a mind rewind.  Here we go:  “Bob, you talk too much.”  (There might have been an exclamation point there.) “True, true, true, true.”  “Not ‘too much,’ just ‘much.’”  “If you subtract the number of times I repeat myself, then you know that at least I don’t say too much.” “I can tell you why: You’re not going anywhere, are you?” “I just keep going until I find a word that makes you friendly.” “Does that mean you don’t think I’m interesting?” “What would you suggest I not have said?” Or, finally: “Throw me away and call it a day.”

[A friend wrote me, charmingly:  “You don’t talk too much.  People talk too little.” — 16 Jan. 05]