Babble-ocity ... Babelousness ... Babblaciousness ... Talking Too Damn Much

Some time in the last 10 years, I've turned into a chatterbox. I used to be a quiet, bookish type. My sister was the talkative one in our family, and my mom. My dad and I were the ones who just smiled and nodded in agreement. I still think of myself that way, until I realize that I've been rambling on like an idiot, or telling my life story (well, maybe not the juicy parts - I save those for here) to someone I just met.

At work, we've hired a creative agency to help us revamp the company image. I'm the main coordinator on our side, and I met today for the second time with the woman who will be spearheading the project on the agency side. We talked about the project for about 90 minutes, then started making small talk. Half an hour later, I'd told her about my kids, my parents, my incomprehensible brother, my sister and why I think she move to London, why Dean and I are together ... As I left the building, I was thinking to myself "What the fuck? Why the hell did I tell her all that?" Granted, she's a lovely person, and a sympathetic listener, but we've spent a little over 3 hours together in total, and I really don't think any of the conversation was relevant to the job that brought us together. Even 5 years ago, admitting I had a child would have been opening up a lot for me. So where did this fountain of confidences come from?

As I drove home (in really ugly traffic, by the way), I came up with the following possibilities:

1. I have a chemical imbalance that has resulted in a dramatic personality change.

2. I'm finally starting to believe Dean when he tells me I'm worth listening to - to the point where I'll inflict personal thoughts and feelings on any innocent bystander in the mistaken belief that they care.

3. I'm so insecure and needy that I'll spill my guts for anyone in hope of garnering a little sympathy/pity/polite yet insincere interaction.

4. I'm turning into my mother (oh no, please, not that. Anything but that! Tapeworms in my brain, even).

5. It's this damn blog. I've gotten used to rambling on and on about whatever I feel like, and the people who wander by and drop off the occasional polite comment have provided just enough random positive feedback that I'm addicted to baring my soul.