any questions?!?

Questions.

We all ask them every day. Some are good questions, and some are better left un-asked. You know the kind I'm talking about:

"When is your baby due?"
"I'm not expecting!"
-----
"How is your wife?"
"We got a divorce."
-----
"How is your mother?"
"She passed away last year."
-----

Seemingly innocent questions can have absolutely damning responses. Your intent isn't to hurt someone (least of all yourself) but somehow your question pierces. Your words resonate in someone else's ears and it's suddenly all they can hear. Your words have brought about disdain to their ears, and likewise, their response, at least on some level, has caused you a certain amount of consternation.
Sometimes you can feel it. Sometimes, even before the question gets all the way out, you know it's a bad question. You can even feel the words floating off your tongue. You wish that they had mass. You wish you could reach up and grab them before they arrive inside the ears of the recipient. You know you can't, and that's a horrible feeling. You wince in anguish as does the person you're talking to.
Maybe you're good enough to play it off. In some cases, you are able to talk your way out of it. On rare occasion, I've been able to do that. On rare occasions, I've even been able to back out of it and have a seemingly decent conversation afterwards. Mostly though, I've simply relished at the flavor of my boot leather as I have tried to remove my foot from my oral cavity.
What about the other kind of question? What about the kind that you ask and you really don't want to know the answer to? I don't know what makes one ask that kind of question. You ask it anyway, and in much the same way as the previous type of question, you can see the words float off of your tongue, and you sincerely wish you hadn't asked the question. This time, however, there's a bigger problem than the embarrassment or temporary discomfort you face. This time, you wince because you know there's more coming. You know the next part is going to be even worse than the first. You know the answer is coming, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. You couldn't stop it if you wanted to, and you really want to. I've done it all my life really. . .
"Dr. Hsiao, what did I get on that test?" (the first time. . .not now)
"_____ are you really going to ask her to marry you?"
"This tastes funny. What's in this?"

Kevin Smith, in his Jersey Trilogy spent a significant amount of time depicting characters (in both Clerks and Chasing Amy) who had not only asked the question they didn't really want the answer to, but also labored over the answer. They labored over the answer so much that it consumed them. The answer didn't ruin relationships, but the character's inability to cope with the answer to the questions that they didn't really want to ask did ruin relationships.

"It's amazing what one can accomplish
when one doesn't know
what one can't do."

I'm a generally inquisitive individual. As people go, I would consider myself more inquisitive than the average individual. I've always liked to explore the unknown. I've always sought out answers to what seemed unanswerable questions. When I study, I tend to be obsessive compulsive about it. When I read a book, I find it hard to make it to the mid point of a book without "peeking" at the ending. In truth, that doesn't ruin the story. At the risk of sounding cliche, the means always interested me more than the end anyway. It's still that way today.
I've recently gotten in to the Alex Cross series of books by James Patterson. I started with the most recent book "CROSS" which has exposed many answers to the books prior (which I'm working on now), and those answers don't dissuade me from continuing my trek through the series. In fact, they only make me want to read them more.
That's the beauty of my inquisitive nature. Getting an answer isn't the end for me. Rather, it's usually little more than another beginning.

I digress. My point in writing this is more the questions we don't want the answers to. Why do we ask them? Dan is famous for the lack of filter between his brain and his mouth. He very often says whatever comes to mind. I love that about Dan. It's actually quite endearing. Most of us have come to expect it. In a room with Dan, keep your ears open, because it's coming sooner or later. My favorite part is, Dan knows when he does it. He knows the moment the words leave his lips that he's done it again. He gets this sheepish look on his face and his cheeks flush very slightly. He usually nods and says something to the effect of, "Yeah, I did it again."

Dan, I did it again too. I asked the question. I opened my mouth and let my tongue form the words I knew I didn't want to utter. I spoke them anyway. I regretted it almost immediately. I suppose that at least partly, I still do. A couple of hours have passed, and I can still feel my question hanging in the air. I wish there were some way I could simply reach up, wrap my fingers around them, pull them close, and save them for another time. A more appropriate time. I fear that the issue would perpetually exist: there would never be a more appropriate time. Somehow, that's strangely comforting. I am comforted to know that in the world of questions you don't want answers to, there is never an appropriate time to ask them. Not now, not ever.

Today, tomorrow, or two years from now, you still won't want the answer. In some way, shape, form, or fashion, you'll always be "Chasing Amy."

I hope you all are having a wonderfully silent moment. Ω