Today, I’m bogged down with too many things to do. Incomplete projects I need to review, some new ones I have to tackle (I don’t know why I do this “new” shit), and some stagnant ones begging for my attention (thanks for the emails, yes I’m fine, Des did not die on the porch steps. Control your hormones, people!)
So, all I’m going to share today is part of a (chat) conversation I had with a friend earlier this morning. – It relates to love and relationships (if you can ignore the crap), and I thought it would fit in (maybe a little) with the SoR theme.
I’ve excluded her name because she’s sort of super private (and also a scaredy cat.) But, I do have her permission to post the convo.
Also, you will see why I’m not a good friend to have.
P.S. The chat was a long one, this is just the last five minutes. Trust me, I saved you all unending minutes of mental badgering. – You’re welcome.
Her: It’s not that I’m NOT over him. I am. You KNOW that… come on!
Me: So what’s the problem?
Her: I told you. I’m just down.
Her: I’m down because I don’t know why this keeps happening to me. Life is so unfair!!!!!!
Me: I have four words for you.
Me: Shut up your whining!
Me: No, don’t pout at me. Life is unfair. Shit happens. Deal with it.
Me: And go away. I’m busy.
Her: When your kids are teens, send them to me. To save them from despair… and disgrace.
Me: So they can learn how to whine even worse than they already do?
Her: I’m just down (and trying to save your kids) Don’t be mean.
Me: And, I’m just about to grab a lamp and hit myself over the head. Imposed depression makes me do that.
Her: The heart wants what the heart wants! I can’t help it if this stuff keeps happening to me. Love is so shit.
Me: Really? You’re quoting Emily Dickinson now?
Her: She said that.
Me: Yes, she did. Emily the recluse that is. Whose only true love affair was with ink and parchment btw.
Me: Oh and love is not shit. Now go away, I need to work.
Her: Yes it is.
Me: I don’t care if you need to work. But go anyway.
Her: You’re avoiding the fact that it IS shit. Chicken.
Me: Calm yourself. Love is not shit.
Me: Love is also not blind.
Her: Yeah yeah
Me: Or deaf, dumb, and stupid.
Her: Is this going somewhere?
Me: Was your whining going somewhere?
Her: OK OK. I sense a lecture.
Me: Damn right you do. You love your parents don’t you? Your friends, your siblings, your first grade teacher? That’s not stupid is it? No. Of course not. So, for the love of all things silver, stop blaming love. It makes me edgy.
Me: You fell in love and it was wonderful. Overnight everything changed. – The stars looked brighter, the world had more colour, you were smiling more, laughing a lot, daydreaming for hours, and lost in magic.
Her: How is this a lecture? And, don’t you have to go?
Her: and oh… silver?
Me: It all leads to silver.
Her: I’m not understanding your silver.
Me: I’m not understanding your self-imposed whineyness.
Her: Love is not silver. It’s shit.
Me: Get your paws off my silver. And stop calling love shit.
Her: Umm You were lecturing?
Me: Right. You were lost in magic blah blah… But, then something happened. Overnight everything changed. – He left. The stars lost lost their luster, the world turned bleak and grey, you couldn’t smile, laugh or even daydream. The magic was gone. Am I right?
Her: Yeah. So, so right.
Her: You’re just being mean again now.
Me: I haven’t even begun… my silver lecture.
Her: WTFisthissilver? Seriously!!! * deep breath * OK, so begin.
Me: What really happened, sweetheart, is that you probably spotted this gorgeous streak of silver one day, and you toppled into the deep end without a second thought. But, believing it was really the shallow end, you struck out towards the silver streak anyway.
Her: What? Silver streak??? You’re obsessed with silver.
Me: Since I was four.
Her: How does that relate to my love life? (or lack of it?)
Me: Turns out, that piece of metallic magic was a super-hot shark called Finn.
Her: His name is ******
Me: I prefer Finn for a silvery shark.
Me: Finn, not Fine.
Her: Are you drunk?
Me: On coffee. Not the Irish kind though.
Her: So… Finn… The shark.
Me: Silver shark.
Me: But when Silver Finn smiled he looked like Nemo.
Her: WHAT ARE YOU DRINKING?
Me: Nemo/Finn, Finn/Nemo, Fimo. Let’s call him Fimo
Her: Get to the point.
Me: So… caught up in bliss and the magic of that silver smile directed at you and you alone, you quickly updated Facebook with “in a relationship”and off you went flapping around from Lonely Heart Lane right down to Heartbreak Hotel where Fabulous Fimo said the view was awesome and the drinks were expensive but amazing. (Also, the stars in your eyes blinded you, which as we know were shining even more brightly right then.)
Her: Seriously? You’re writing a story about it now?
Me: First draft, nothing major. – Anyway… Not that you cared too much about the view. All you wanted to do was gaze lovingly into his eyes and wait patiently for his declaration of love. And, when you heard it, fireworks exploded in your heart and everything took on a dream-like quality.
Me: But, he dumped you outside the hotel and took off in a hurry. You didn’t know why, but wait… What was that you saw in the distance? A FISH tail attached to a woman’s BODY? What? Did he run after THAT? No, of course not, that couldn’t… Wait. WTF were you doing outside a cheap motel? ZOMG! Was this… Was he… NO! OMG No! Never. OmgOmgOmgOmg! Where were the lusterous stars when you needed them to blind you from your own morfitication? You needed to run, you needed shelter. You needed to change your relationship status on Facebook!!!!
Her: You’re a horrible person who trivializes another’s pain.(past pain. But still my pain)
Me: Fuck your pain. This is just fun now. I’ll have to edit later though, first drafts are shit.
Her: You’re supposed to hold my hand, not turn this into a NY Times Bestseller
Me: I’d burn a story like this, then kill myself for writing it in the first place.
Her: They’d make a movie out of my life story.
Me: Opera. Much loud whining and all…
Me: Come over and make me coffee. I can’t leave my laptop… I’m stuck in a whine bucket.
Her: I’d rather get back to work.
Me: And, I’d rather whip your butt to remove the silly virus you’ve contracted and then get back to writing real nonsense.
Her: I told you I was over him. Stop bitching.
Me: Stop whining.
Her: OK, so there “might” be some truth in what you said.
Me: About Fimo?
Her: Yeah. Bad choice. You’re right. Leaped before I looked. Carry on (the whipping)
Me: Ah responsibility. Yay! * applause *
Me: The applause was for me, not you. I saved love from needless blame.
Her: THAT was your agenda?
Me: Naturally. And, stopping your whining.
Her: I need new friends.
Me: I need new pens.
Me: Go away.