What It Is

I talked to a friend tonight. We concluded that real friends were hard to find. So, the ones we had, the ones who truly had our backs…those were worth hanging on to. The rest could kiss our asses. We hadn’t talked in a while. I told her about the one who’d broken my heart and she told me about the ones who’d left her high and dry and that, yes, if the people who might want to hire her called me, I’d give her a good reference. Because she was a great boss. I look back on all my shitty disappointing jobs and realize that with most of them, I’d ended up keeping my bosses as friends. I still think that’s weird and it probably won’t happen with my current job because my current boss tends to overlook me and doesn’t really get me, but for all the past ones, I’ve ended up being friends with them.

I was talking with a co-worker this afternoon. She was waiting for a donor to show up and hung out in my doorway. We talk about “our tribe” which I’m convinced does not exist in my current working world. But she might be as close to a tribe as I get here. She’s a bit flaky and my boss is convinced she gets away with murder but the donors love her. She’s smart and too good for this place. We connect. It’s really all I can hope for, that connection. She has two very young children and it’s weird to be in a place where I see my former self in her being envious of the now-me in my post-divorce place, with my child-free weekends doing whatever the hell I want.

I listened for a bit to a recent This American Life about William S. Burroughs narrated by Iggy Pop (!! I KNOW, RIGHT?!) and had to shut it down because I was asked to find the board of directors of a corporate foundation which made me sad but also made me happy – they need me! Except it was 10 minutes before going-home time. As always. And I had to close Iggy Pop out. Click off that window and move on to my paying job. On a Friday at 4:47pm. On a day when I’d  go home to nothing. To an empty house. Which I don’t mind as long as it’s every other weekend. As long as it’s not all the time.

I don’t know what the purpose of writing this was. But I had connected, in my conversation and then listening to Iggy Pop, to something that was my tribe. Was me. My authentic self. For just a moment. And then was jarred by the Tasks That Need Doing. Which is the story of my life.

A few people hate me. One has gone to great lengths to remove me from her existence. I don’t think I’m such a terrible person I need to be served a restraining order. Not that it’s come to that but it wouldn’t surprise me. My friend, the one I talked to tonight, while I was half drunk and eating baked beans out of the sauce pan with tortilla chips, she understood. My ex-boss. She mentioned former friends who avoided her in the grocery store after she had to leave her husband. We can’t please the crazy. We can’t please the sad and angry, the people who can’t face their own shame and unhappiness. We have to band together. We have to love each other. Of course I’ll give her a good recommendation when the people call that want to offer her a job far away that she deserves but will send her away me. Of course I will. Because I love her. I understand. I’m a good friend. I always will be. But if she gets that job, I’ll miss her. Another person doing what they need to do. I will admit to a bit of jealousy. I have another decade before I can pull up stakes and go where ever I want to.

We discussed men and the lack of good ones. I mentioned that I’m already done with the dating universe and have only just started. I might have a date next week with a man who is only close by every 10 days. That works for me. I have come to realize that most men on dating sites are just too pathetic to bother with. Or they have reached a point in their lives where they have free time and because I don’t, have no use for me. I’ve discovered that my free time is too precious to squander on dumbasses. I’m closing in on 100 pages of new writing. This is big. This is important. I need to focus on what I need to accomplish. I need to focus on writing and sleeping late on weekends and spending time on people who are good and kind to me.

To hell with the rest of them.


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