Something is wrong in my universe.
I feel it like a smell. Like an actual physical sense. Still distant, still so abstract that I can’t even tell its scope, rate its danger.
Is it the coming apocalypse? Financial collapse?  It is a person, place or thing? Will the temperature drop suddenly and inopportunely? Did I take my vitamins?
I can’t tell. And it takes on a certain foreboding. Because without knowing what is wrong you won’t know what it will take to right it.
Is a trumpet just a little out of tune in the symphony? Or did a whole section just never bother to learn the movement. Maybe the oboe player is sleeping with the otherwise already entangled first violin and playing just a little bit off tempo to spite the object of her affections, the cellist who can see the whole thing. Do we need to stop, take a moment, check our instruments? Or do we need to blow this shit up and start anew. Would we know the fix if we saw it. Do we even like this piece enough to salvage it in the first place?
I just don’t know. Maybe it is me, and I just need a little silence. Maybe everything would be just right if I could hit the mute button, now and then.

You fit into me
like a hook into an eye

a fish hook
an open eye*

The other day I read an article that noted that prosthetic legs have become so amazing that some people are now making a previously unthinkable decision. Those who have already lost a foot, sometimes, will now choose to lose part of their the leg as well so these new prosthetics will work for them. Without just the foot they are relegated to a deadweight and a cane, without the leg and with this attachment…well,  they can walk, they can jump, hell they can even run. Some people, even in pain, however, will never make this choice. It is their leg. It is part of them. Who would make such a choice? Losing the foot was hard enough.

Unpleasant thought:

Just because you don’t want to lose something, does that mean you really want it or that is good for you to want it?

I mean, even if you want to hold onto it, even if you have nightmares about not losing, even if you have visions of life without it that leave you bewildered, beseeching, begging for time to reverse itself to a place when you could have it again: does that mean you, really, truly want and need it, or do you just not know how to be without it.

There are…things in life that become part of you. They grow into your structure and fit in that hole like a puzzle piece. Like a cog. Like a hook into an eye.

No one likes to lose a limb, but what if you find it was really just an bonus attachment? A not necessarily interchangeable but possibly replaceable accessory piece? Or what if it really truly was your leg? Your gnarled and painful leg. A frustrating piece of deadweight but still your flesh and bone and you should love it. Because it is you. Because it is part of you…

Or maybe you should listen to your dreams. Listen to your nightmares. Because maybe, if the thought of losing something bothers you so much you wake up in a cold sweat then perhaps the possession of it means more than a thousand walks in the park. 

You can always make the unthinkable decision. But once you chop that leg off, it aint growin’ back.

And then the question really becomes: is it the fear talking? Or the love? Do you really want it, or do you just lack the creativity to see yourself without it?

*Margaret Atwood

You know, a good friend of mine (who is a waitress, herself) once commented to me that one of the things that separates a good server from a mediocre one is eye contact. Even if you cannot immediately give people what they want, making eye contact, when they are attempting to get your attention, and acknowledging that you see their need, and plan, if not at that second, in the future, to meet that need can go miles. A simple nod, smile, a mouthed “sorry, be right there” will allow people to wait twice as long with half the anxiety and aggression.
And we’ve all been there: at a bar, at a restaurant, desperately trying to get the attention of our server, who, because they are overwhelmed just as desperately avoids eye contact or acknowledgement that you are standing, right there, in front them. Inches away, with an empty glass or an open wallet. Really. It is incredibly frustrating. Especially when you want something small. Do they see me? Do they know I am here? Will I ever get a salt shaker? A refill. How do I just get the check?

There is an escalation of anxiety when our requests are met with a black hole. this is not just confined to our dining experience. We’ve all been on hold for an unreasonable amount of time. Or sent out a bunch of emails to complete to utter silence. And a simple “Sorry, I know you are on hold, but can you wait a bit longer” would totally suffice. Or an acknowledgment email “I got your message, I don’t know the answer, but I will in the future” makes you feel a little like an ass and a nag.

So we are addressing courtesy right? Put very simple: Pretending people don’t have needs in your daily interactions does not make them go away. It isn’t just rude, it is essentially dishonest.
Even more to the point, ignoring people can create greater need.  So just don’t do it.

But it is more than that, of course. In general, pretending another’s needs do not exist because you are not prepared to meet them never turns out well. Not in a restaurant, not in office, and not in a relationship. You can stall, you can placate, and you can even very much not deliver, but you must acknowledge if you do not want to de-validate.

I think we live in a very nervous and callous world that is quickly losing not just its manners, but also its consideration. A certain laissez fair attitude combined with an expectation of intense independence allows us to not just ignore others but blame them for needing and wanting in the first place.  A fear that our needs may not be met allows us to de-prioritize to such an extent that we sometimes force them off our radar, into the static, behind our backs, inaudible over the fingers in our ears and the la la la.

And while it is very true that you can’t always get what you want, it is incredibly powerful to have that want acknowledged and even, sometimes, validated.  Sometimes, actually, that is what the real need was, anyway.

Control Yourself (pt duex)

There is measurable, if not always concise, difference between manners and consideration.
I care very little what fork you use or if you are wearing white shoes before labor day, or if you conjugate or wear too short a skirt to church. While these things can be indications of respect and consideration, they aren’t always. And while I like things to be pretty and things to go smoothly, these things do not consume my thoughts. Yes, I wish you'd call me Ms. and not Miss and Mrs, no, I won't take it personally when you don't.

In reality, I care far more about how often your behavior indicates that you like, care, and respect those in your presence.

Understand: I am, more than many, a big fan of disclosure and comfort. I like honesty. I like friends and family to treat each other with as an increasing level of transparency and leniency as intimacy is increased. I love it when my friend tells me to just grab a beer from their fridge and when we share that beer, I wish you'd just say what was really on your mind, even if it is weird, or strange, or less than appealing. I will always put a bra on when you visit, but I may not put on shoes. I like informality, in its place.

Glory be the moment when you see beneath the smile to the true matter.

That being said, there is a time and place for everything.

And there are times that I wish people truly considered how their behavior affects others.
What is that phrase… “one person’s freedom ends where another’s begins”?

I think the same could be said around comfort and expression.

Because it is all very well to express yourself, but if expressing yourself, be it through music, presentation, the cold freeze, or a gigantic screaming match in isle 4, means that others have to share your grief in a way that innapropriately increases their discomfort or misery, it strikes me that  you may have failed a key test of maturity and consideration.

Humans were built to share, but consider if your sharing is simply displacing discomfort.

Humans were built to express, but consider if your expression is making innocent bystanders sad, frustrated or confused.

 And the more sensitive you are the more you should be able to understand that others have feelings too…

And I know it is hard to remember, especially when in your own emotional upheaval, that your behaviors really do affect others. But it is important to remind yourself of this. Because the more they care, the more they can be moved.

 So, this isn’t about some outdated relic of decorum or rules you don't want to follow. It isn’t about putting on a mask to hide your true self and your beliefs. It is about consideration of others feelings.

Making another feel bad is not reasonable fall out for making yourself feel better, and disregarding another’s needs because you have your own is just selfish.

You wouldn't throw a bomb into a crowded preschool to protect yourself and you know better then to vent that gas into the room next door. Those people were having a nice day and that nothing to do with your shouting match until you came along. And they had every right to do so. Remember that.  And consider your aim.

Know what? It really bums me out that you don’t seem to like me anymore.

There. I said it. Out loud. You don’t seem to like me very much, and, well…that is sad. Not just because I am insecure and I have a hard time with a loss of affirmation and because I will go over all of my failings as a friend, over and over again. But also because, sometimes, I actually miss you. I miss the familial comfort, I miss …well. It. Us, whatever kinds of friends we are. Even if we weren’t perfect. Even if we had issues. Even if we grew apart.
So yes. I get it. We aren’t BFF and we aren’t going to be going on long road trips together or exchange travelling pants or be having slumber parties or go double dating.
So be it. And, like I said. It makes me sad. And confused. I wish you still liked me. But not everyone can, or does. And I get that, because it is their right.  

But know what else? What doesn’t just bum me out but actually really pisses me off? That you are doing such a bad job of even pretending you like me.
I mean really? Really? The open coolness? The completely obvious annoyance whenever you find yourself accidentally in my midst. The not even half an attempt to hide that my presence puts you out? 

I understand that this too is your right. As a human. As an AMERICAN.

And maybe, just maybe, you think this makes you honest. Or sincere. Or reflects an integrity found in a person who is just too true to hide their real feelings.

But I think it just makes you callous, and me embarrassed. Uncomfortable. Awkward every time I see you and like I should apologize for existing in your very delicate world.

I mean, come on. If I have offended you enough that you can’t hide the frustration, you should probably say something.
But if you can’t, or won’t,  or just don’t want to, you should bottle it up just a little bit better and fake it. Grow the fuck up.
We all deal with people we’d rather not. Family. Coworkers, and extended circles of friends.
Not everyone can like everyone. But it is a matter of simple consideration that you control that distaste well enough so that they don’t become other people’s issues too.

Making people feel bad is not a demonstration of strength or honesty. It is just selfish.

they're just like you, except they're hot

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__HeE6NWmDE

I will cut to the chase... two 17 years old ladies whine about how hot girls have problems too (their just like, except they are HOT)

if you've missed it, feel free to follow the link...or at least, read the comments. they are not, for the most part, about their complete and other lack of talent or intelligence. they are about their looks. specifically,  whether  they are hot. or not. surprise surprise.

as the kind of liberated woman I am, my first instinct was to feel defensive. protective even, jesus. look at these bitchy catty kitty cats, always tearin' down a lady based on how she looks.

except here are these girls. telling you how hot they are. and I have to admit. that was the first thing I judged, too.
once I tuned the sound down. or off.

the actual reality is that if you stand up and call attention to something, that people will feel compelled to judge that thing. because they are looking at it. because you are telling them to look at it. over and over again. whether you are bitching about it or bragging about it. if you tell someone you are hot. or not hot. or are fat. or smelly. or hairy. that is what they will judge. DO you really smell delicious? IS that the best rack they have seen? Well lets check it out.

on another note: I have always thought it was ...not just inappropriate, but actually really stupid to judge anothers intelligence. I mean, sometimes you can't help thinking someone or something is stupid. but in general, making an effort to compare and contract intellect seems ludicrous. I mean, hell, it is so subjective. so complex. there are so many colors and flavors and I don't know what is going on in their head. I don't know what they did last week. Or said before I walked in the room.

Also I know, I KNOW I have personally said some of the dumbest things I have ever heard come out of people's mouths. repetitively. sober and drunk. it is embarrassing. and yet I have been called intelligent.repetitively. so you just never know.

but if you sit here and tell me how smart you are. or how dumb someone else is. if you engage me in a battle of wits in which someone must be the victor and someone must wear the big pointy hat sooner or later i will begin to scrutinize. and judge.

and you don't want this. because few things pass close inspection with a perfect mark. and unsurprisingly the very few people whose intelligence I have truly questioned are those who have asserted it. repetitively. but mostly I just think they are insecure. because just like those hot girls with their hot problems, I know that they wouldn't parade in front of me with their ass in my face unless they wanted me to judge it and judge it well. And they wouldn't be seeking that kind of affirmation if they knew, in their hearts, they were sure of the outcome. they wouldn't be pointing at it unless they were scared I hadn't noticed something they weren't 100% sure was there anyway

A recent comment made me wonder if I needed to explain something that I always thought wasn’t worth explaining.

To, ya know, the 5 people who read this.

Perhaps I need to explain myself:
I don’t write about other people. Not about exes, not about friends, not about enemies and coworkers. I don’t.
I write about me. I write about the world we live in and how I experience it.
But I do think about other people. About exes, about friends, about enemies and co workers. I think about the past. I think about context. I think about me and the world we live in and how I experience it and how that is so very tied to what I have experienced.

That does not mean I miss the past and it does not mean I resent it.
But do I live in the past?
Perhaps, maybe I do. But not how one might think.
I think most people understand, abstractly, that they are a collection of their experiences, and those experiences, as often as not include people.

I commented, recently, in a comment to this blog (which now, more than ever, seems pretty masturbatory) that you get over the love, but it is hard to unlearn the lesson. I continue to believe this to be true. Put more simply, you’ll carry the experience even if you forget the person.

And you’ll live in your brain no matter what continent you inhabit, and who you inhabit it with. And if you are me, that part of the brain has real estate. It has substance and topography and a whole host of guests and inhabitants. Some visit daily, some never leave, some show their face at the most inopportune times, and some I wish would come on by much more than they do. Some I cleave to know better as a analyze and replay, some I can’t look away from, like roadkill, like a hot mess. They are exes and friends and coworkers and maybe that person on the train I always pondered. They are people I grew to know well enough to get to know myself better.

Allegorical characters long after the fact.

You may not experience your past the same way. But you do experience it. Directly or indirectly, abstractly, or vividly and explicitly.

And maybe you process it through song, through dance, through psychotherapy or through drink.

Or maybe you have a blog.

Or maybe you don’t process it at all. Which is also worth pondering. And you don’t even want to know what I have to say about that.