Classic Snivel
I end here tonight. The accuracy and completeness of this dramitis personae depend heavily on my perceptions, memory, and sad fantasies, and I beg everyone to be patient with my inability to select a lot of names I like all at once (thus making the list long in coming), and if you feel your name belongs on this list -- well, it isn't a popularity contest. I just write about the people in my life who make me want to snivel incessently about it.
During this weekend just past, some friends and I were (as you have read briefly) in charge of a table for our own publications at Ottawa's Small Presss Fair. Now, in between traveling to and from this spectacle on the opening Saturday, at some point one of my dear young ladyfriends chanced to lose her wallet at a Mac's Milk convenience store as we purchased tasty snacks. Usually she is quite meticulous about retrieving and stowing it, and yet still somehow it vanished. She didn't realize this until we had gone downtown, and by that point there was no sign of it. I even managed our table myself while my friends drove back out to the West End in search of it, but they returned quite empty-handed.
My friend was beyond consolation -- largely because she knew her mother would be frightfully and insanely angry to discover that the wallet was gone. And anyway, I myself am one to panic in extremes when things are misplaced, so I don't blame my friend at all for being hysterical to the point of catatonia. If it had been my wallet, well, I'd be just this side of suicidal. What a great dishonour it would be to both myself and to the Buxton leather company, makers of fine wallets. No, better that I spontaneously combust on the spot, rather than misplace my many 'frequent customer' cards (like for coffee shops and such, where after so many purchases you get X for free) and spartan means of identification.
And it's really amazing how dehumanizing it is to lose your wallet. Suddenly you have no way of actually proving that you exist. It's one thing to have clerks call you on your baby face if you try to purchase cigarettes, but another entirely to just have no way, whatever, of guaranteeing to anyone that you are actually whom you claim to be. My friend lost her birth certificate, her health card, her Social Insurance Number card, her hospital card, her credit cards, her student ID card, and her bank card. She literally had no access to health care or her own money in the time it took for her erstwhile wallet to hit the pavement.
Now, fortunately everything is replaceable, so in due time, my friend managed to pick up the pieces, cancel her credit cards and her bank card, and we romped downtown to get the process rolling for replacements to her identification type cards mailed to her by our government. And piece by piece, she existed again -- at least, insofar as she could expect all her ID to arrive in the mail over the next two or three weeks.
But I must admit, it was to our mutual shock that today, stuffed in her mailslot, was my dear friend's wallet. The money was gone, but everything else was intact -- including her prized photos of the two of us, and a student ID card that belonged to me when I was seventeen... back when my hair was actually its natural color (among the one or two photos that exist of me before it underwent its progression of hues).
And while such small kindnesses will in no way persuade me to refrain from conquering earth and enslaving humanity, and certainly never inspire a single stay in a single execution of anyone caught being mean to a frog (which in my reign will be high treason), there at least is the satisfaction that -- for once -- the time traveling historians on whom I lay the blame for any of my possessions vanishing mysteriously (since they will undoubtedly be collecting museum-quality Rob artifacts for posterity) have been cheated of at least one prize.
And more from the happy side of Rob's bipolar expression. I just really want to thank those friends of mine who are regular readers and have written me with words of love. You know who you are. And to Charlotte -- you just come home soon to our lovely city, and then we'll both be happier.
So I sent the friend I'm having problems with a painful note yesterday, expressing my hurt and imploring her to just wake up, and treat me like I'm an important person in her life. Of course, she's having so many difficulties in her life right now -- and depends on me for comfort and understanding -- that it's very difficult to have to be so selfish and demand things I tend otherwise to be pretty understanding about (that is, normally I aspire to just be her best, beloved friend, regardless of how much or little time she has for me, or how difficult things get), but at this point fail to see how I really have a choice. I could keep quiet until I grow bitter and resent her, and decide she's not worth the love and friendship I could give; or I could say something now, while I'm merely hurt, when some kindness and closeness will still be enough to pacify the feelings of emptiness, loneliness, worthlessness and neglect that presently are infesting me.
I was toying with the idea of an attention-starvation hunger strike. This is the saddest manifestation of my body image combined with my current misery that I could think of on short notice. Essentially it means not telling a soul, patiently waiting and not eating, happily engaged in starvation and weight loss until finally:
The problem with this scheme is its pathetic plea for psychological attention. It's not like I have the actual willpower to execute such a plan; in fact, I don't have half the willpower necessary.
Still, I'm sure all this waiting by the phone will inspire me to do something at least as pathetic, and hopefully even more creative.
Your suggestions are welcomed.
What really does ire me, though, was what happened with one of my closest, most beloved friends, whom I haven't figured out a proper pseudonym for yet. But most of my whining is about her. I called her on Thursday night, in the hopes of making plans with her -- finally -- after the two months that it has so far elapse since the last time we had a chance to spend some time together. She was agreeable to the idea, if sick, so she promised to call me back as soon as she got home Friday night to let me know how she was feeling, and what the prospects were for the weekend. So, Friday came, and -- of course -- she didn't call. Being the weak emotion whore that I am, I called her at the last second to find out what had happened.. and she ended up telling me that she was feeling better, and apologized for not calling, and explained her reasons, and to me all was well, because she promised to call me Saturday evening and tell me if we'd be able to see each other on Monday (which was Victoria day here in my funny little country, and thus a holiday), so I was again enchanted.
But she didn't call me on Saturday. I got panicky, I called her again, but she was out, so -- wanting to be understanding, since after all, she was at a fundraising play at her school -- I just left a message for her to, please, call me, and I assumed life would be good the next day.
But she didn't call me on Sunday. So I called that afternoon from
the Press Fair. But she was out, at the Tulip Festival (Ottawa has more
tulips than any city in the world... the National Capital Commission alone
planted a million of the things, and that doesn't include all the tulips
planted by private homes and businesses... so Ottawa feels justified in
making them a tourist attraction every Spring), and once again I left a
message with her mother, begging her to call me just as soon as she got
back in. And then I figured, well, that when she returned, she really
would get in touch with me. After all, she wanted to see me too, right?
And even if she couldn't, anyone in the world would try to get in touch
and let their so-called best friend know that it just wasn't possible, and
so to please refrain from pathetically sitting by the phone all weekend.
And I won't tell you what happened next, because I've given it
enough foreshadowing that really you could just guess.
Ultimately, I broke down yesterday morning and called her again, desperately hoping that maybe, just maybe, we could salvage these plans we made to be together, and thus sweeping away all the hurt and unhappiness I was being forced to feel, along with a real sense of worthlessness (being, after all, unworthy of a phone call), but she hadn't come home the night before and instead had spent the night at a friend, so I left that same sad message for her to just call me, please call me, when she got back in. And then I waited by the phone (well, in all honesty it's right beside my bed, so the waiting part could also be called 'sleeping,' although I was too emotionally messed up to be tired by that point), certain that she would restore my faith in her by coming home and picking up that phone and telling me that yes, yes, of course she could spend that day with me. And then I'd feel like such a silly goose for getting so depressed and cynical, and I'd laugh at myself -- ha ha ha ha ha. Well, anyway, she didn't call, and she didn't write, and she didn't do anything that made me feel at all like she gave a crap about my blistered feelings at all. Just plum forgot I existed once again. And the thing is, that for the past two months, when my friend promises that she'll call me (or send me e-mail), I haven't believed her. I mean, it makes me happy to hear it, and I still wait by the phone, but I know, deep down, that I'll be disappointed from the moment she says it, and I'm really tired of being write. It's not like she occasionally forgets to call me -- she never calls me. If I didn't call her for a week, I wouldn't speak to her for a week. And all I can do is wonder why she has time for everyone in the world -- she even has an e-mail pen pal in Texas. A pen pal. She never writes me anything, but she has a pen-pal -- and not 20 seconds to just call and say "I'm sorry, I'm really busy, but you matter to me and I didn't want to hurt your feelings, so like any decent, caring human being, I called to apologize for having to do this at the last second. I wanted to see you, too, Rob."
And right now, I'm really, really hurt. I'm the one person in the world she is completely close to. She even calls me her best friend. But I can't remember when she set aside the time to make me feel like her friend. She's a very busy person, and very probably everything will be better again when the summer arrives (this time last year, we never saw each other and I did all the calling, as well, but the difference was that we'd grown apart during the winter, and while close and friendly, we weren't best friends exactly, and we weren't in love. Now, well, in some way, we are; or are supposed to be.), but I feel so horrible right now. I don't know how else I'm supposed to feel. It's one thing to have to wait to see her, but I hate being forgotten about. I hate to feel like I don't matter enough to earn a phone call once in awhile, or even a four-word e-mail that just says, "I miss you Rob." I don't require much from my friends, except for the attention and affection I need. And if I at least had that, I could gracefully and contentedly wait until she had more time to see me. But she doesn't make me feel special. She doesn't make me feel missed. Maybe she's happy to talk to me when I call, but for once, just once, I want her to call me -- call me just because she was thinking about me, and feeling lonely. Just because she wanted to hear my voice.
So I've been going through this all weekend. Even with some of my other friends. I'm just really sensitive to these things right now, and I can't help but to resent being ignored. I never keep track of the e-mail, or letters, or phone calls that I'm "owed" by people, but right now I am aware of them. While I admit it's always nice to feel like the most important person in everyone's world, I'd be happy with less. What really hurts me is being made to feel like this forgettable blob. I can't bear it.
Beside me is a pathetic card that I'm sending to my missed and bemoaned friend today. I was waiting until the very last second to mail it -- hoping, praying, that she'd call or write before going to bed, or before going to school, and let me know she was sorry for hurting my feelings -- but I don't really have a choice now. It just explains how hurt I am, and how in fact I don't believe her when she promises something now, and that I'm not angry, but I do need her to talk to me.
Your friends are the people can hurt you the most of all. Maybe they don't intend to, and certainly they don't want to, but sometimes people are so comfortable with the way you get along, that they forget how important it is to reach out and be sure you know how much your friendship means to them, and the remind you both reason of the reason your friendship, and your love, exists in the first place.
Do read the Misanthropic Philosophy of the Week, though, just to prove to you that I really am working hard on this, and not making up pretend angst merely to get more sleep.
Brought to you by Jolt Cola, with
the buzzing and mild irritation of
caffeine induced paranoia.
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