Talking on Residual Air
I am turning into my Grammie. I know it’s cliché, to say you’re turning into one of your matriarchs. It is a well-traveled trope. However, it is a true one. She always used to say things three times in a row, and now I'm starting to do it too. It stemmed (and stems) from low-level anxiety, a need to know that you are actually being heard, above the din. She always moved fast, in everything she did, muttering in triplicate, "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming," or “I heard you, I heard you, I heard you,” or “I got this, I got this, I got this.”