Blue in the Face

Is there anything that makes you happier than the unceasing sound of your own voice? A captive audience? Don't stop on my account. The white noise of you relating every detail of your existence is relaxing in a way. It's not as if I have any pressure to keep up my end of the conversation considering this is not a conversation. This is a non-stop rambling tractor-trailer of sound. I suppose, if I were concerned for even a passing moment about your point of view, I may have to untangle the shifting sands of subject matter that fuse into the mosaic of your monologue. Instead, I just look at you in wonder as your aching jaw suffers in service to a fierce task master. Will you notice if I leave? Maybe I should just turn my back. This is fairly awkward. If I am waiting for my cue to extract myself from this situation, I don't think it will come from you. I will have to depend on an act of God such as a phone call or maybe a tree falling on you.