Girl Code

girl-code

I despise small talk, not only because I find it superficial but because I’m no good at it, never have been.

I’m the kind of intrusive person who expects you to open up immediately about everything in a flood of verbal diarrhea, complete with emojis for real. It’s the kind of person I am — for the m0st part.

I don’t even feel comfortable engaging in the general pleasantries and platitudes of polite society: Good morning, Good evening, Hi, how are you, Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas

Get away from me with that time-wasting bullshit.

Alas, the only way I’m ever going to make and keep friends, as well as sustain loving relationships in my family is to get over the detestable bullshit and wait it out. Wait what out?

People need to feel comfortable before they go spilling their guts. It doesn’t mean they’re lying to your face, or they hate you — immature thoughts that go through my head.

And, just because I go spilling my guts to everyone, i.e., have virtually nothing to hide, aka, what you see is what you get, what’s the point of keeping it all bottled up? life’s too short… doesn’t mean everyone else has to do the same.

It’s not in our nature to jump into a full-blown heavy conversation mid-stream. We have to work up to it, sidle over to the corner first, assess the lay of the land, find the comfort zone, and then sit back, listen for awhile.

Even then, they’re not likely to ever get to the juicy point.

Ugh!

Fact is, I don’t know what’s going on, and furthermore, I don’t have a right to know. This isn’t an investigative piece of journalism and I’m not chasing down leads. 

Recently, I’ve sensed some distancing of some friends. Maybe it’s my own paranoia, self-doubt, constantly assuming I’m at fault since I usually can’t keep my big, fat mouth shut about anything and I tend to — as a Sagittarius cusp — put my foot it in on the road to brutally honest ruin.

As a Sag, I say what I think. As a Scorpio, I mull and pout and brood and stew over imagined hurts.

I talked to my son about this issue today. When we aren’t fighting over stupid shit, and when I’m not overreacting at full tilt, he’s actually a very good listener, and a very fair, compassionate, and wise person to bounce ideas, thoughts, and feelings off of — just like his father.

He gently suggested I cut people some slack. They may not want to talk a subject to death. Example: STFU about the injustices of the Premier youth soccer leagues. They may have other, more serious, drama they’re dealing with, and have forgotten to fill me in on details about mutual friends.

Fact is, I don’t know what’s going on, and furthermore, I don’t have a right to know. This isn’t an investigative piece of journalism and I’m not chasing down leads. 

Chill the fuck out. Get off the clock. Forget the deadlines and the half-written features in my head.

Whatever people tell me is a gift anyway. Besides, I’m looking at relationships all wrong. They’re not about telling; they’re about being. People are human beings, not sources.

The point of any relationship is to enjoy it, not to feed off the other person’s misery or milk the collateral drama way past its issue date. Do I care about this person, or is she merely a means to the next, big story?

True. Guilty as charged.

I’m a reporter by nature, remember?

Sometimes I wonder if I’m even human. But that’s for another post.

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