Reply to a Tweet I Saw

A post on Twitter says it is ironic that men always ask you what you are doing when you ask them what they are thinking. Men don’t talk about feelings that kind of thing. I too feel something when talking to some women - that we are not talking about the same thing. Is one of us looking outward and the other inward?
I like to keep my thoughts to myself until I decide to express myself, I don’t like being observed for thoughts that I am having while I am having them. It is as if women believe that the only way they can catch something true or relevant is if they grab a thought from you while you’re not thinking. What? –while you’re off you’re guard. –They are convinced that men won’t tell them anything worthwhile maybe - if they know they are telling it to them. The thought has to be grabbed before it can be guarded- that sort of thing. I believe that there are women who believe that we battle to keep them down and therefore won’t tell them something to their advantage. Is that it?
When I awoke this morning the vine on the balcony had grown two inches during the night and seemed be trying to make an approach to my room. It makes a click click sound when it grows rapidly and sort of slithers a tiny almost imperceptible bit as a minute hand on a clock or the level of water in a pool being filled. Or the tide rising at the beach. Or the Sun falling on the horizon at noon. Or water getting hot in a pot. But I wonder about that vine and why it wants so badly to reach the door to my room. Click click slither glide stop. Is anyone watching? Click slither meander to the side to get a better view, a final click then the plant feigns slumber but I know its watching waiting... for some moment to turn the corner : to head inside, click, tick tick. My heart is readying itself: I guard my thoughts. The clothes have been hung out to dry and the window slides open. Click... eyes. The vine seems to know my thoughts but as I turn the clicks stop – it stops, hesitates. I turn away. It moves again and I feel it watching me. She closes the door. I look out - the vine is no longer there and I wonder have I imagined the sequence. Is it possible for a plant to appear and disappear or have I gone somewhere and come back.