'Cause I'm a Visual Comedian

It's been months since I've seen her, yet she still won't talk. Sometimes--if I'm lucky--she'll squeak out an awkward "hi," on Skype, but that's only when the person on the other end of my internet conversation happens to be sitting next to her, and, seeing her uneasy silence, nudges her to "say something!". (Don't think I don't realize it, Tina.)
Of course, when I return home for the summer, things swiftly become comfortable, and the conversation ebbs and flows effortlessly again. As expected, but it still comes as a relief.
So, naturally, I approach the subject with her, the subject of Why Tina Is Terrible at Talking to Me When I Am at College. Let me give you a blow-by-blow account. No, no, no, really, I must insist.


We are eating lunch at the oversized cherry wood dining table, but Tina and I are the only ones sitting down so far. The house is somewhat quieter than usual, what with my dad and brother gone, but then, then, the phone rings. My mother picks up, saying hello to my newly married older sister--Jessica-- who now lives across the country and has recently sprung the news on us that she is pregnant. I eavesdrop half-heartedly on their exchange, but don't really take part in the conversation, until Mami holds up the phone toward us and says "D'you want to say hi?"
Me: "Hi Jessica!" okay, I guess it's more of a "Hi Jessica."
Sanni: "Hi Jessica!!!" For real. That's not a retrospective exaggeration. Rather, pure fact.
Tina: "Hi Jessica..." Said while inching away from the phone.
Mami takes the phone back and resumes the convo, but Tina's obvious discomfort has stirred something in me. Past phone conversations-- involving dorm rooms and hiding from roommates so they won't hear the private and personals--flood my memory, and suddenly I have to ask.
"Tina, why don't you like talking on the phone?"
She looks at me, and then her mouth stretches into a forced-looking yawn. (This is a sure sign that she is uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. Just so you know. In case you ever encounter a dangerous animal like her.)
"Or, I should say, why do you hate talking on the phone?" I prod, almost insensitively. The ironic thing about this is that I quite dislike phone conversations myself, often avoiding them at almost any cost.
She pauses to think about it, grabbing a bright, fresh-looking carrot from the salad bowl. As she munches on it, she says thoughtfully--but obviously trying to be funny, because she gestures with her hands, and puts on her nasal voice as she says it--"well, I mean, it's obviously 'cause I'm a visual comedian."

One of Those Poems I Love without Knowing Why

The Second Coming

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.
    Surely some revelation is at hand; 
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand. 

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

This is only just part of the poem, but it's the part I like. And, interestingly enough, Yeats wrote this in the aftershock of World War I, the War (that was supposed) to End All Wars. 
How long will the Second Coming be "at hand"?