Anyone close to me knows a large flaw of mine is the inability to text. The difference between myself and a poor communicator though, is that I opt for something else: calling. One could attribute it to my difficulty being concise, my love for voicemail, or perhaps the desire to hear my friends' voices straight from the source. When doing my absolute favourite activity -- walking -- I love to have someone telling me all of their accomplishments, difficulties, and gossip as I hike across town. Besides in-person, there's no better way to connect; it's more complex and personable than texting, and much easier to maneuver than FaceTime.
I've noticed -- even since middle school -- that preference for calling is dwindling among my peers. And I rarely recieve voicemails!!!! There is nothing more in this world that I love (hyperbole) than a heartfelt voicemail. Or, on the contrary, I love the short ones that have minimal thought involved. My father prefers the latter, and many of them. Think about it: what if I die today? You'd all be scrambling to listen to my voice in any form it can be found. To ask for your voice, à la Ursula from the Little Mermaid, is simply requesting that I have a piece of you to reflect back on. It sounds morbid (because it is) but know that I cherish them pre-post-mortem as well.
Being a people person means that I would like to converse with people -- not their Serif extensions in a grey bubble. But, if you get several rings from me, know that that's just my way of checking in. While others may text, I'll just ring you every day. Until you can't escape. You're trapped in a cavern of care. If you're reading this right now, a dastardly text will suffice, but know that a call would put an enormous smile on my slightly sunburnt face. And, dare I dream for a voicemail? I'm getting amped just thinking about it.
Happy 4th (& belated Canada Day), WLH
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