It’s Not You, It’s Me

Retrovaille (n.) the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation

My new old friend, Meriam (see Freedom Tickler to understand how cool she is) sends me these ‘word porn’ gems. They’re like ammonia to my muse.

I have a keep-in-touch deficiency. When I move–schools, cities, states, jobs–I inadvertantly cut ties with everyone. I don’t do it for any real reason. I’m not a phone person to begin with, and I have a love/hate relationship with texting.

(what’s great about texting:

I rarely have to talk on the phone
shorthand wit-battles
paper trail
what’s sh*tty about texting

manic reciprocation expectation
more editing. emails cause me enough distress.
ALL CAPS and !!!exclamation points!!!! Why is everyone yelling?
emoticons. There aren’t enough adjectives for me to describe how I despise emoticons.
paper trail)

Most all of my relationships end on a bad note when my feeble reciprocity tapers out. The only ones remaining are with those that know full well and have no problem that I will disappear for years at a time. Those that can leave the ‘Oh, I guess now you have enough time for me’ bullish*t out of it. Those girls are rockstars and don’t miss a beat. Hey, how’ve you been? Any kids? Still married to the same guy? Laugh laugh laugh, I love and miss you always, talk to you in a few years.

I’d drop everything to help any one of these girls, and I know they’d do the same for me. Life is busy and we probably won’t remember one another’s birthday. But describing post-close-proximity events to them fits easily into a wake of funny-memory rehashing. (this to Mandy-I’ll laugh in my grave at socks in ketchup).

A few things persist from the past. To find my reading zen I summon the preteen me reading in my mom’s old bedroom at my grandmother’s house. I can hear the window unit, can see the lamplight, and can feel my mom next to me. It works really well.

On parents day at sleepaway camp, my dad (a former camper. campers understand certain things about one another) took me to my favorite dock, sat me down and had me close my eyes. He told me to sponge up everything about the moment and keep it locked inside. I still have the key and can allay anxiety swells with an astral projection to that dock.

But memories are fleeting and far-between. I barely remember my home addresses and can’t give an accurate detail about high school. I think I may be living vicariously through my characters. They are cool and sharp and have an answer to everything. I hope I was like that, but I doubt it.

I think that’s why I have such a hard time making and keeping many relationships. So few people connect subcutaneously, in my opinion. Please understand that I have fun and interesting times with people everywhere, and that I genuinely appreciate them. But some people plummet into your life at just the right angle and burn a thumbprint into your timeline. I can count these people on one hand and I think I’m out-of-this-world lucky to have that many. No jealousy, no resentment, no unrealistic expectations. Just awesome conversations. What the hell else is there?

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