You mean to say exactly what you think as you enter, and the sentence snags in your throat like a knot. Mercury, the mind that races and pairs words faster than the lips can follow, pulls crosswise against the threshold where you appear in your chart, and the grinding leaves a tug. Try to introduce yourself plainly and something on the tongue jams, or bolts too far ahead, and the sense clashes with the gesture. From that grating a way of speaking gets sharpened: you learn to brake the haste, to let the whole idea cross the sill before the mouth runs out after it. The voice is earned here by filing down the rush, word on word against the frame.