this is about the social contract.
there is a picture of me at age 3 or 4, taken on thanksgiving. there had been a nasty succession of arguments; crying, a fistfight, more crying. i remember just changing locations -- kitchen, living room, car, (flat tire, lost hubcap,) my aunt's house, etc. -- but the drama seemed continuous. it was an ugly day, drenched in sleet, and could be why i never much cottoned to the supposed and projected spirit of the day. in the pic, i am in a frilly dress and shiny maryjanes, wearing a football helmet, playing the guitar and singing. i think we all kinda know where my aptitudes lie both with contact sports and strings. for years, my mom trotted this out as an, "oh, how cute you were!" document. somehow trying to prove i was just an adorable lil scamp always playing, "let's put on a show!" by my fucking self. nope, i couldn't possibly be a distressed only child, the littlest person in the room, trying to change the subject, stop the conflict and make everybody laugh.
italian and irish, there were plenty of men in my families who, along with their colorful friends, (don't tell your mother we were with so-and-so) taught me how to be fast and sharp. how to pace and tell a story. even embroider the truth for a bigger laugh. hell, then that becomes the truth, right? there was no, "ok, lil noodle, now on the third beat, ya go for the laugh," but that breaking of the ice was something i knew i could use.
fast forward to a career that depends on my people skills. on being a certain type of gregarious. not the steamroller-stfu- kind, but the kind that hears your clues and then can engage on another/different level.
my colleagues and friends are like me. if we weren't, we'd not succeed in this field, nor would we keep company. not everybody is on the same plane of verbage. but the accepted expected context is kinda the same. if you don't feel like keeping up, stay home. you're supposed to bring something to the party. and not just a 6-pack.
briefly i had a roommate who even more briefly had a b/f who was painfully shy. she told me one night they were stopping by. i heard them come in, then ... nothing. finally i couldn't stand it and went to her open door. he was sitting in the huge walk-in closet. in the closet. in. the. closet. no metaphor for gay here. i felt a forcefield. it was almost hostile. i said "hello, my name is," and got a downward glance of "um, hi," in return. then more silence. he was 30, not 3. it was so odd, i backed out and mumbled goodnight. so much for small talk. or introductions even. i remember sharing this with my b/f at the time, who howled and worried for the guy's sanity.
so now i am faced with somebody pathologically introverted. i am trying very hard not to be cruel here. the owner is choosing to spend time with her, for his own reasons. that time sometimes overlaps with his time spent with me, so we do and will occasionally share space. it was explained to me that all her interactions happen inside her head. frankly, i'm not even sure i understand what she does. she sits there and imagines what she might say if she spoke out loud? she plays pretend party girl? or are her internal replies 2 or 10 paragraphs late, so better left unsaid?
i am also trying very hard to reconcile my feelings about this. it's been a few weeks, but i think i finally have come 'round to teasing it out from the visceral dislike.
her behavior feels parasitic. i don't like being a dog-and-pony-show. to some, this may seem to conflict with my objectification kink. however, if i'm being used as a slut or a dinnertray, the guy above me is perving on using me. it's mutual, it's satisfying and it's hot. if you're a knot of social and verbal impossibility, why are you out with other people? maybe she pervs on being socially uncomfortable? if that's the case, what does she offer me? her discomfort is palpable and it sucks.when i mentioned her lack of small talk, i was reprimanded with, "maybe she doesn't care." i've already blogged plenty about my low tolerance for the uncurious, so that's not a good avenue for me either.
i'm left empty-handed on this one and i HATE that. my judgement is made, so all i can do is modify my reactions. she is not going to change. i don't think he wants to take that on as a project, lol. so it's left to me. i cannot offer strife. it's disrespectful to him and shows a lack of grace on my end that shames me.
however, i have yet to shake the jeebus out of the fact that she gets to wallow in her comfort zone of pretend and quiet. and ya know what? i find that profoundly selfish. maybe that's why i like my friends, and my owner, so much: because we share.
strange words from an only child, huh?
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