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Unsober
The weekend was something of a mixed bag. I guess it always is, but a couple of situations brought into focus my dissatisfaction with various things, particularly my friendships.
Friday night I was worn out by poor sleep so I just stayed in and did laundry. When I got a request to chat from Liver Laddoo, I thought he was calling to console me. Several minutes into the call I realised my mistake; he just wanted to talk about his date the following evening. I kept hoping he'd pick up on my disinterest but he never did so I started counting the minutes until I could end the call without hurting his feelings.
Finally, about twenty minutes in, we started talking about funerals and cremations. He told a story from his childhood about witnessing his grandather's traditional Hindu cremation. Finally, I began to get interested in the conversation. When he said he didn't think he wanted the same thing for himself, I told him. "Tell your family and put it in writing." He began to get uncomfortable at where our "banter" had led to and I told him, "If banter is what you want, you should've called one of your other friends." The call ended soon after that and we haven't spoken since.
The experience left me agitated enough to text three other friends looking for someone to vent to. One was a therapist and, in thinking of him, I was forced to remind myself that a therapist is not a psychiatrist and vice versa, so I shouldn't expect a friend who's the latter to be particularly sensitive to my emotional needs. LL is used to prescribing medicines for the violently mentally ill; he's not spending a lot of time drawing them out to learn what emotional support they need--and it shows.
I had a similar though less explosive experience with Pepperoni. I couldn't figure out if he hadn't offered condolences because he just didn't know my father was dead (because Facebook's algorithm is capricious and you just can't assume anyone has seen anything you've posted, no matter how many "reactions" it's netted) or because he couldn't be arsed. Turns out it's the latter. Not surprising, given his callow age, but a bit disappointing all the same.
And then there was the wine-tasting on Saturday afternoon. Again, I didn't assume most of the people there had heard about my dad. Our hosts, for instance (one of whom has given up FB completely), were a bit shocked when I casually mentioned it after everyone else had left. But I knew some of them did and I expected some acknowledgment--a longer hug, a word of sympathy, a vague invitation.
It was a sobering reminder of where I stand with that particular group of friends. Unsurprisingly, when I tried asking around about what people were doing later (having made the effort to leave home I wasn't in a hurry to head right back), I got put off. So I ended up accepting my straight neighbours' invitation to dinner and promising myself I'd go out afterwards.
Friday night I was worn out by poor sleep so I just stayed in and did laundry. When I got a request to chat from Liver Laddoo, I thought he was calling to console me. Several minutes into the call I realised my mistake; he just wanted to talk about his date the following evening. I kept hoping he'd pick up on my disinterest but he never did so I started counting the minutes until I could end the call without hurting his feelings.
Finally, about twenty minutes in, we started talking about funerals and cremations. He told a story from his childhood about witnessing his grandather's traditional Hindu cremation. Finally, I began to get interested in the conversation. When he said he didn't think he wanted the same thing for himself, I told him. "Tell your family and put it in writing." He began to get uncomfortable at where our "banter" had led to and I told him, "If banter is what you want, you should've called one of your other friends." The call ended soon after that and we haven't spoken since.
The experience left me agitated enough to text three other friends looking for someone to vent to. One was a therapist and, in thinking of him, I was forced to remind myself that a therapist is not a psychiatrist and vice versa, so I shouldn't expect a friend who's the latter to be particularly sensitive to my emotional needs. LL is used to prescribing medicines for the violently mentally ill; he's not spending a lot of time drawing them out to learn what emotional support they need--and it shows.
I had a similar though less explosive experience with Pepperoni. I couldn't figure out if he hadn't offered condolences because he just didn't know my father was dead (because Facebook's algorithm is capricious and you just can't assume anyone has seen anything you've posted, no matter how many "reactions" it's netted) or because he couldn't be arsed. Turns out it's the latter. Not surprising, given his callow age, but a bit disappointing all the same.
And then there was the wine-tasting on Saturday afternoon. Again, I didn't assume most of the people there had heard about my dad. Our hosts, for instance (one of whom has given up FB completely), were a bit shocked when I casually mentioned it after everyone else had left. But I knew some of them did and I expected some acknowledgment--a longer hug, a word of sympathy, a vague invitation.
It was a sobering reminder of where I stand with that particular group of friends. Unsurprisingly, when I tried asking around about what people were doing later (having made the effort to leave home I wasn't in a hurry to head right back), I got put off. So I ended up accepting my straight neighbours' invitation to dinner and promising myself I'd go out afterwards.