Language of crazy

I made a careless comment to a friend today when I lipped, "words are meaningless." He, of course, immediately pounced with an, "I'll remember you said that."

Instant regret.

In fact, I am one of those people to whom words mean everything. Not just in my capacity as a writer, but as a woman, mother, friend and colleague, words said -- or sometimes unsaid -- have a lasting impact on me.

A few years ago, I took the 5 Love Languages quiz, pretty much knowing what the answer would be. I am a big believer in touch but also, words of affirmation.

Unsolicited compliments mean the world to you. Hearing the words, “I love you,” are important—hearing the reasons behind that love sends your spirits skyward. Insults can leave you shattered and are not easily forgotten.

I always chalked my lingering memory of insults to a solid Irish lineage, wherein revenge is a dish best served cold. I can dwell on harsh words for days, formulating the perfect retort to sock away for the next time.

The irony is that I can dole them out just as harshly. In fact, meaness comes easily to me. I can shoot an insult across the bow before the enemy has time to reposition. And then laugh when the eyes widen in surprise. When the shots are returned, usually I'll stand tall and deliver, but sometimes hover under the fire and wish for a peace treaty. (Like how I carried that analogy all the way through? Nice, right!)

Sometimes that two-minded attitude makes me seem a little crazy. Trading barbs for hours, I can turn to a friend and demand that it is time to "say something nice" and then discredit the compliment because I had to ask for it. I really should apologize for being a nut job.

Right after I call him an ass pony, of course.