I've now decided that I enjoy making important yet strangely mindless decisions regarding myself.
~~~
Earlier tonight, I sang at a church. Very contemporary place and service, fitting, for Silverlake. At the end of the night, following the choir rehearsal, my friend, the musical director who invited me to sing with them, handed the other alto and I each a little pot of flower as a thank-you gift. We are getting paid for singing, yet he said he just wanted to give us a 'little something'.
I thanked him, and out of my mouth, "WHY CAN'T MY BOYFRIEND DO THIS?" The church organizer looked at me, puzzled. "I can't get my boyfriend to buy me flowers, I've been asking for 6 months." Now he looks baffled, and to my chagrin, asks whether my boyfriend is in essence, mentally disabled, but using the less politically-correct term. "No," I said, laughing, "...just a little slow...?"
~~~
I like flowers. They make me happy, like they do many people. Easy to think that he who loves me most would not hesitate to make such a simple gesture, knowing that it'd make me happy. He said it was because he was on a bike and can't carry it. And it was too expensive to order flowers online. And then it was because he wanted to take me to buy the flowers that can be planted, and therefore lasts longer.
Yet still I wait, everyday just slightly a little less hopeful than the day before.
~~~
I hear my mom calling me in my head. Flashback to the times when she'd ask me to do something, and I'd come up with a response that would delay whatever it was she'd ask me to do. I felt completely justified in my responses, and assured by the fact that I was occupied by something important, and therefore unable to meet her request at that exact moment. The problem was, for the majority of the time, I was occupied. I had to do what I was doing in that moment, at that moment. I couldn't set it aside for just a fraction of the time to hear what she was asking of me, to do something as simple as setting the table. Because it'd be too distracting. Because I was almost done. Because I wanted to. Perhaps, it was a matter of principle. I determined what was important. And I was more important than whatever she needed. She can wait just a minute...
~~~
I've given up talking to him at work. Because, as he says, he's working while he's at work. He has no time to read emails, check messages, drop a note, anything. It finally dawned on me who he sounded like, and why it felt familiar. He sounds like me. When I worked my 10 hour days and couldn't do anything personal, that's what I sounded like. I'd feel slightly annoyed at whomever was calling me for not knowing that I'm at work and that I was clearly busy. Was there a rule against personal phone calls? I'm sure there was. Would my bosses have flipped out if my mom called from overseas and I took time to speak with her? No. Would it have been nice for my mom to hear my voice for 5 minutes? On any of those days when she called...?
No one works every minute of an 8-hour day. Not even a very dedicated and conscientious worker.
The problem isn't that he doesn't have the time or can't find the time for me. The problem isn't even that he used to have time, but slowly, over the course of a year, he didn't. The problem may be me. Maybe I am no longer as 'miss-able' as a I used to be.
No comments:
Post a Comment