My Tent on The Beach

It has been awhile, hasn’t it…since the last “friends can be asses” installment?  I knew it was only a matter of time.

In my last post, I discussed the disrupted communication chain when a friend of mine chose not to answer an e-mail.  At that point I was annoyed. So, what does any self-respecting neurotic do?  Of course, I called.  And the phone call went unreturned. Panic ensued.

I suppose I shouldn’t be so anxious.  So what? So he didn’t call back? Big deal.  But, oh…it was a BIG deal to me.  An unreturned e-mail is one thing; maybe something got lost or it was forgotten.  Okay.  But an unreturned phone call?!? No, no.  This was not good from someone who meticulously returns every phone call ever received, even from people he actively dislikes.  I was sincerely worried this non-return was meaningful.

Such was the case that I was scheduled to run into said unresponsive friend later in the week but by the time that happened worry and annoyance turned into a roiling, white-hot fury.  (There were other things going on, of course.  This isn’t my usual reaction to this type of thing…but he stepped into it big time.)  The fury stemmed from my feeling completely ignored (cue the “Fatal Attraction soundbite, “I will NOT be IGNORED.”  This is why I worry about myself).  This was an active non-communication.  Thus, the following equations sums up how that scheduled meeting went:

Katie’s white hot fury + Friend’s pretending nothing was out of the usual = Katie’s Icy Cold, White Hot Fury Smile.

(I knew how it felt on the inside and I’m not lying when I tell you I scared myself.  I wouldn’t have wanted to be the one receiving it.)  If you know me personally, I’m generally pretty warm and friendly…generally.  When I’m angry, imagine that warm friendliness collapsing in on itself and turning inside out into Ice Queen meets Psycho Killer.  It’s not one of my prouder traits. Cue his panic.  I felt vindicated for 2.5 seconds and then I felt like I just kicked a dog or something.  I proceeded to be Ice Queen for roughly five minutes and then realized 1) it was stupid and 2) I couldn’t keep it up for a prolonged period of time and I was having a hard time breathing, so I decided to cave.  He knew right away what I was upset about. Of course he knew.  His reason for non-response…”I was busy.”

Oh man. White hot fury momentarily returned.

We discussed and I hated myself the whole time because I sounded like one big “woman” cliche…in the end, the point that was taken was it would’ve been better to respond quickly and say he was busy than do nothing.  He apologized…of his own volition.  Case closed.

I’ll tell ya.  I’m a sociologist by training and I’m taught that nothing is really “inherent” when it comes to behavior.  But this is such a GUY thing to do it makes me ill.  I don’t have women friends who don’t respond.  In fact, the opposite is usually true with them…when I’m pissed or they’re pissed we have to talk it out to the death.  But this whole, “I was busy so I couldn’t take 3 nanoseconds to just tell you that.”…I literally think its the presence of testicles that gives one courage to use that intensely ridiculous excuse.  This, I believe, probably forms the history of the phrase, “it takes balls to…”

The real coda to all of this is that said friend of course redeemed himself in a really shining fashion and I think in some ways that takes balls too…it’s a lesser ball achievement but a noteworthy one nonetheless.  And as I work back through the archive of all of the “friends are asses” posts, they usually end with redemption.  So, this is more a chronicle and less a complaint.

But friends really can be asses sometimes*. Whew.

*Of course, in the same breath I’d acknowledge that this particular friend could write a magnum opus called “When Katie’s are Asses.”  This may be the true firmament upon which our friendship is built.  We both have the potential to be incredible asses.

You know what makes me seethingly, nuttier-than-nuts, over the top annoyed?  When people break the communication chain leaving you hanging in a communication lurch, hands tied, and wondering.

I’ve noticed the communication chain to be very important to me, I think as a single person, moreso than 1) married people, 2) men, 3) introverts, 4)…okay, well, considering the number of people included in those groups, maybe I’m just crazy about the rules of communication.  But I find them fairly simple so I’m not sure why everyone just can’t get on board.  They are as follows:

1. When you initiate the communication, you (the initiator) cannot (cannot) for fear of being called a stalker contact the same person until they contact you back.

2. When you are the receiver of said communication*, you return it.

2b. When returning, it is proper to return via the mode the initial communique was delivered. (Thus, it is completely outside of the rules to return a phone call with an e-mail, etc.)

*This of course assumes the person contacting you is a friend or bound to you by a communication-based relationship (boss, brother, the dog groomer, etc.)

Those are the rules.  That’s all of them.  No overly-wrought communications lingo, addenda, or small print.  Of course, I realize that there are circumstantial situations that may preclude the rules and that’s fine; these are general and finite.

Unfortunately, I’m now left in the void of the disrupted chain of communication.  I blame myself.  I sent a vague, short e-mail to a friend fully expecting a response.  In all reality, it probably looked fairly innocuous and not meant for any kind of repechage (it’s a word…ask Susan, she knows)…but now my hands are tied…by my own damn rules of communication. Why?  No return.  Rule 2 was utterly tread all over.

Technically, I suppose since rule 2 was broken, all bets are off and I–as the victim, truly–could cite that in my trial for stalking a friend.  But we all know, per the labeling theory, what the title “stalker” can bring you in life…essentially, not good things.  No, I’ll just have to wait.  But that then brings up the weirdness that will come when I encounter said friend face-to-face; of course, I’ll want to ask why they never e-mailed me back…but I won’t…because in another set of communication rules, the non-returnal of calls, emails, disruptions of the chain of any species, cannot be inquired about directly for sure look of desperation.

The chain has been broken.  It wasn’t even a chain, really.  Just a simple two sentences with a question to finish it off.  Gone forever.  It’s the same dismay I feel when I know the opportunity to change potential energy into kinetic energy has passed. It’s a sad day for physics just like it’s a sad day for this lost communication.

Farewell, e-mail. Farewell.

I can’t say for sure but I think I was born without the gene that motivates me to get what I want.  I only say this because I’m consistently amazed with the ability of others to get what they want. Amazed.  Mystified even.

Take, for example, a woman I worked with about 10 years ago.  At that point she was 40ish (I think…oh man…), single, and, to be frank, really bossy bordering on obnoxious.  At that point in time she talked about getting married and having kids and people (including this people) rolled their eyes and couldn’t help but think, “Riiiiiight…okey doke.”  Well, who’s laughing now, friends?  It ain’t me.  This woman not only is married but adopted a child and now…she has the family she always talked about.  The one that everyone doubted.  She made it happen.  I’m amazed by that.

Probably one of the keys to this is identifying what you want but that’s part of my own mystification.  How do “people” know what they want?  On any given day I have no less than 3 ideas for career paths, life choices, and ways to keep things interesting.  All of them seem feasible.  All seem somewhat interesting at the very least.  And yet, I still cannot say with any resolve that I “want” particular things; I really feel like I don’t know what I want. And I’ve always felt this way.

I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose.  The other day I was eating lunch with a friend and he asked whether I wanted to sit on the patio or inside.  ”Inside,” I said without hesitation and he starting laughing hysterically.

“Why are you laughing at me…is it my hair,” I wondered out loud.
“I’m just surprised.”
“Why…’cuz I want to sit inside…because we can sit outside if you want.”
“No,” he said. “I’m surprised you made a decision.”

Huh…story of my life.  Making decisions seems to be the key to honing in on what you want but I’m completely unthrilled by that idea.  How am I supposed to know what I should do?  I don’t know.  I envy the people who so clearly say things like, “I’ve always wanted to be a mother” or “the only thing I’ve ever been interested in is becoming a doctor.”  I can only say my experience has been the opposite; there are literally 2039874 things I want to be before I cash it in.  How in god’s name does one choose which direction to go?!? (I’m also a little frustrated because I surely thought this would work itself out in time…I figured when I got “older” I’d get more focused…ummmm…no.  Once again…the opposite.)

I’m ending this particular post because I know I want a snack before bed.

I just don’t know what it will be.

Sometimes friends who are asses do redeem themselves by going above and beyond the call of duty.

It’s important to remember that when wanting to just call them an “ass” and be done with them.  It’s all a dynamic process.

This could easily be a rant about comments I didn’t ask for showing up on my Facebook page that “cynify” [def: turn something fun into something cynical...that's right, my word] something I’ve posted up there as a moment of levity.  In fact, I’m choosing not to dwell on that (and it’s an active choice because I’m actually seething about it right now…but I’m letting go).

No, instead, I’m going to build on the somewhat popular, new-to-this-blog topic of friends being asses.  It seems fruitful territory to mine these days; at least, I learn an awful lot about myself.

I think it’s no secret (unless you read this blog and literally absorb nothing I write about) that I’m in a period of reflection, transition, self-discovery…all brought on my these crazy circumstances of change everywhere I turn.  Like “epic dreams” that allow your subconscious to speak “truth” to you in dreams, my life right now is at “epic transition.”  I’m totally day to day.  And I’ve already discussed how important my friends are in keeping me afloat in what can be tumultuous seas.

But this tumult also breeds a really bad habit on my part and what can be really bad behavior on the part of some of my friends: they can be mean to me and I’m likely not able to call them on it.

I know…it’s funny even to think about that weird contradiction–if people are mean to us, how can they be friends?  But no, there is a fine line I think lying in between people being comfortable enough to “be who they are” in their darkest of forms and people just being…well, asses.  And this is a line we (meaning the “me”s in this situation) regulate…it’s up to us to defend who we are and what people are allowed to do to us.  Although, arguably, when it comes to friends, we should never have to. (What can I say…I’m still an idealist at heart…and head…okay, I’m an idealist at the most molecular level.)

I realized today that this has been happening to me for awhile…with someone(s) I do consider my ports in this daily storm.  And it makes me sad in several dimensions.  I’m sad I let it happen.  I’m sad they’ve taken advantage (although I’m sure they’re not even aware…which, incidentally, is why we can still be friends).  I’m sad I have to confront my “ports,” a situation that could render me…wait for it…portless.  And portlessness is a scary place to be.  But it’s not scarier, necessarily, than have ports whose waters aren’t shelters but are actually barnacle-pummeling storms (okay, I’m done with the boat metaphor now.)

I guess the realization is this…I’ve assumed the storm was outside of this group of folks I’ve surrounded myself with…only to discover that they’re part of the storm.  I do have faith that I’ll be heard in whatever way I choose to address it; these conversations won’t be easy, but I think they’ll be fruitful.  But I keep moving along as though I’m protecting something I have.  What I’m really protecting is just a mirage…once again, the choice to face what is real rears its ugly head.  At least there isn’t a decision to be made; this simply cannot go on.  But things will change…another transition.

What’s hard to remember is that there are transitions that will bring about more difficulty and there are transitions that will actually get us to a better place.  This specific case is definitely the latter; my life will be qualitatively better not swallowing the bad behavior (no matter the intention) or justifying it…or contextualizing it…or rationalizing it.  I’m going to get away with much less work on a daily basis.

But I’m not fully prepared to accept that some of these “friends” might not be “friends who are asses sometimes.”  They might, in fact, just be “asses.”  And maybe it’s time for them to find another lost little rowboat to pummel (sorry…I needed just one more go…)

I’m hoping…really hoping…for option A.

Yesterday, I was headed over to the eye doctor for some new,  exorbitantly expensive contact lenses when I saw possibly the greatest vehicle I’ve ever come across.  A silver Dodge Utilivan pulled up next to me and I never would have noticed it had it not roared past me, displaying it’s company to be “Universal Power and Control.”  There was a ladder on top…it was an electrician…or was it.

That made my whole day…as did my ridiculous knee-jerk reaction that was, “How do I work there?”  I don’t know how to do anything electrical…but I’m willing to be an apprentice just so I can drive that truck around Chicago.  Brilliant.

Of course, the irony was not lost on me…in fact, the whole episode was nothing but ironic since for the past 7-8 weeks my whole life has been one big shitstorm of unknowing; Universal Power and Control has been my sad, pathetic mantra.  I’d do just about anything to get it at this point.  And whenever I’m clinging on so tightly to that need to control, I just know that whether I like it or not something profoundly chaos-enducing will surely happen.  I just need to let it go a bit.  There is a balance to all of these things.

So this morning as I was standing (okay more like trembling) in “vertical splits pose”–the one I’ve also heard called “needle”–I realized two things.  First, I came to accept the fact that I cannot have universal power and control.  Actually, I’m not even sure I’d want universal power and control–I mean, really, wasn’t that what the entire movie Aladdin was all about? [Sidebar: is anyone else as shocked as I am that the entirety of the western world has been saying this name wrong...and that it's -ah-la-DEEN....not ah-LAD-din?  Thanks again Disney for creating another lie my whole life is tremulously built upon. End Sidebar].  My greater insight, though, is that I already have universal power and control–but it’s really only over my universe which is mildly annoying but a step in the right direction.

I’ve been sweating blood over the past couple weeks, especially when it comes to people moving and moving on.  It seems there’s a lot of this going on.  I feel adrift in their seas…at their whim…I’m floundering.  Except, while suffering through breathing in “needle pose,” I began to think that the power I have in these situations refers specifically to my ability to trust them.  I have the power to trust the people who are moving and moving on.  If I can stop fixating on the circumstances [moving and moving on] and focus on the people [trusting they will show me the loyalty I show them], then the situation becomes more manageable.  The people define the circumstances.  If I empower them to do that, I can breathe a little easier, at least for now…by that I mean this second.  I’m trying to work up to a minute.

One of the greatest comforts I find in yoga is that these systems of thought are ancient…and they seem almost tailored to me in this day and age.  If Buddhist monks on the mountain a thousand years ago were fixated on how, exactly, to live in the here and now and not slip carelessly into the future or past, then…well…good for me.  I really am human.

And I still want that Universal Power and Control truck.  It’s just to tempting NOT to think about…

I love my friends.  I suppose we could argue about which way to draw the causal arrow; I love these people because they’re my friends…These people are my friends because I love them.  Either way, I need them, they give me joy, they help me to plug along when plugging is necessary, they share my greatest triumphs.  I always aim to do the same.  It’s one touchy, feely love fest when it comes to me and my friends.

Except when friends are asses…and then…not so touchy, feely.

I think I’ve always held an “outside of the box” understanding of friends.  I’ll admit I pay very little attention to the “rules and categories” of friends (in sociology, we’d call these normative constructions…god I am a nerd).  So, I approach people first and then consider what’s going on in their lives.  This explains how I’m friends with very few people who are actually like me (single, female, grad student, etc) and I have more people around me who are just plain interesting first.  This bodes well for them (you); if I’m your friend, it means I’m really invested in you as a person…it’s not a friendship of convenience because our “categories” seem to match up.  I think that’s the difference between friends and acquaintances…acquaintances are convenient and pretty transitory as the “categories” of your life shift, sometimes rapidly.  Changing jobs, moving, graduating…acquaintances won’t follow you through those.  Friends, however, will.  This is Katie P.’s friend/acquaintance ratio.
Admittedly, it’s intense.  It makes friends an investment…which can be work…but usually doesn’t seem that way…or shouldn’t.

But I’ll tell ya, when friends are asses by upsetting the friend/acquaintance ratio, it does not feel good.  Part of the problem with my ratio is that not many naturally buy into it; most people do not approach friendships in this “to hell with categories” kind of way.  I think because most normal people don’t live 95% in their heads–as I do.  They don’t analyze their friends…they’re just friends.

Anyway, I have a friend who’s freaking out right now.  He’s in a bad place.  And yesterday, I think maybe out of fear or frustration…or stroke…basically explained to me that I’m just a friend of convenience–when in fact, I know this to be completely untrue. It’s a special day when someone you’ve really come to know as a really good friend looks you in the eye and tells you that when the time should come that you’re not in close proximity, you just can’t, or worse won’t,  be friends.  There is nothing more frustrating–because of it’s degree of ridiculousness–than this idea.

I could go on for hours about this.  I’ve worried about it enough and come to the conclusion that it’s just simply not true. My arm chair psychologist inside tells me this is an existential freakout of his not mine and has really very little actually to do with me. But, you know, above anything else I think friendship is an agreement between two people, implicit or sometimes explicit, to choose the other.  It’s one of the more tenuous kinds of agreements too–friends don’t take vows (unless you count pinkie swears), or “commit” to anything.  It’s all assumed agreements and searches for setting up good and secure boundaries.  It’s shady work sometimes.  This is why I think trusting friends can be very hard…it’s an enormous leap of faith that can be changed tomorrow based on a lot of factors.  So…this conversation…so out of character and far away from my understanding of the situation…it’s annoying. And disrupting.  And stupid.

What an ass.

This will surely sound completely impolitic.  No doubt I will be accosted by a zealous feminist and given a good piece of her mind.  But…

…there are days when I just need a man around here to do a couple things. Things like but not limited to:

1. Taking out the garbage. I’ve asked guys before if they consider this sexist and, actually, many just seem to consider it something they do.

2. Snaking the drain in the tub. Actually, plumbing of any sort.

3. Hooking up anything computer related. Not only do I somewhat suck at this job but I don’t have the spirit of interest many guys I know do when it comes to this department.

4. Reaching the high shelves. Of course, this assumes said man is taller than me…generally, that’s pretty likely.

5. Watching sports on tv that I can be only vaguely aware of. I love watching ESPN for mere moments on the hour.  I have zero impetus to turn it on and watch sports on my own.  But if there’s a game on and someone I can ask asinine questions…well, I just find that comforting.

6. Generally using tools of most sorts. I am scraping by here.  I have an excellent new tool kit that I’ve used…but I’d rather not.

7. Car related junk. Oil changes, gasket whatevers, filters, blah, blah, blah.

I think these are all things that men in my family do and that now, because I no longer live with them, I’m forced to pick up the slack on.  I would just as soon not do that.  In fair exchange I will gladly cook, bake,  and even do laundry (I’m willing to negotiate on cleaning but will make no promises here). I can also cross-stitch.

But really, if I could just get someone willing to deal with taking out the garbage and, in a related vein, deal with recycling…my life would be immediately qualitatively better.  I just know it.

Note to sociologists: Back off.  Is this a normative post? Yes.  Did I still put it up? Yes.  Get over it.

I have such an interesting relationship with the word “intuitive.”

I think it’s kinda mysterious and here’s why: I was thinking about the Meyers-Briggs personality inventory the other day.  Intuitive is one of the categories a person can end up with in describing how they “know” the world.  Opposite of sensate (which I think is similar to “clues gathering” or highly observational but in a sensate way), intuitive is more a “feeling” that something is happening or things are the way they are.  It is true that I don’t have to observe something to know that a change is coming or that someone’s feeling particular way.  I sense it.  I’m fairly blown away that everybody does not know the world in this way.  I like that I can’t explain how I know things…I just do.

But there’s a downside to this way of knowing the world.  It can be torturous sometimes.  Because very often I can know things are going on despite people trying to play it cool.  Often weeks in advance of an announcement I just have a sense that something’s up…the last great example I have is that one of my committee members called me to her office to tell me she’s leaving the university.  I knew she was leaving the university and, more interestingly, I knew the minute she called that this meeting–which she told me was about something else–was, in fact, to address this issue.  There was no process in moving from not knowing to knowing.  One day I just knew.

What I hate about it is that this intuitivity (my word I just made up) which I lovingly call “my gut” (as do most people) is very rarely wrong. Thus, when my gut speaks, I really am forced to listen…and accept.  Which is particularly hard when my gut is sending me a message I’m not wanting to hear.  This creates so much anxiety; in the end, it is just a gut reaction and my gut has been known to be wrong at times (afterall, I’m not a psychic).  But it’s rare…and it gets rarer with age.

And I’ll tell ya…my gut and I are just not seeing eye to eye at the moment.  I wish my gut would just get it together.

“Everything you’re seeing now is happening…now.”
“what happened to then?”
“We passed it.”
“When?”
“just now.“
“When is then now?”
“Soon.”

Spaceballs: The Movie…what an endless treasure trove of insight.  (C’mon…”comb the desert.”) I could quote it in most life situations. But this one I think is apt for the moment.  Yes, this moment.

There are days when I wonder how much of a sucker I really am.  Today I feel like a big sucker…because I’m stuck in the future and I don’t know how to get out.  And I’ve been thoroughly taught to think that way.  And I’ve learned it. Well.

I’ve been staying up nights with a crazy kind of anxiety…I’ll lie awake for hours, my brain spinning (needlessly) about things about to happen.  That’s right, it’s my imagination spinning away…about a time to come…sometime.  From this point today, that time always looks scary–grey, gloomy, cloudy, lonely.  I never really smell the future but I imagine if I could it would smell like sulfur. (Ironically, this also describes Cleveland on most days, so maybe it’s the comfort of home I see before me).  It’s also never going to come at least in the way I envision it.  Someone said to me today, “The future is an illusion.”  He was right.  And I’ve become enamored with an illusion…that doesn’t even really look all that great.

We are at now now.  I can’t will time to move any faster, nor should I.  There’s a lot of moments between then and “soon” that should probably be paid some attention.  I don’t really know why…then again, I think I’m the wrong person to ask…I live in then.  But I’d like to live in now.  It seems more colorful, more present, more immediate, more real.  I like all of those things.

So why is living now now so hard?

I guess I’ll find out…probably “soon.”

[hmpf.]