I’m Not Prejudiced, I Hate Everybody

I was in a team building event for work recently and the facilitator asked us whether we like people more or technology more.  Only one person was brave enough to raise his hand for technology.  When asked why he liked technology more, he said, “I hate people.”

I’ve been in a funk lately and the longer it lasts the more I hate people too. Earlier this week my daughter had a chorus concert, the second of three this month (don’t ask me why), and I arrived straight from work and a friend of mine took a picture of me sleeping and posted it on whatsapp.

She did the same thing at the last concert, and I got mad. So when she did it again, I got madder. I told her I was mad, and that it was disrespectful to the chorus and it made me look like I was the one being disrespectful. I know I used the word “fucking” somewhere and I heard her ten year old daughter say, “ooh.”

Anyway she apologized and said she didn’t realize it would make me so mad and she wouldn’t do it anymore, which is good because I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall asleep at the third concert.

End of story? No. My wife is mad at me, because she thinks I shouldn’t have talked to her like that in front of the rest of us. She thinks I should apologize, probably because whenever she does me wrong, I always end up apologizing to her.

I hate people.

OK, maybe it was good-natured fun, and maybe I’m overreacting, and maybe I’m overreacting because there’s something else going on with me. The question I have is, does anyone care about me? Does anyone care that this pisses me off, whether you understand why or not? Does anyone stop to think, Is A.Lawrence ok? What else might be going on with A. Lawrence?

Is it even such a big deal? It lasted two seconds. I said my piece. I got it off my chest. I’m not holding a grudge. For God’s sake, I had just woken up. Is that worse than making fun of people? She didn’t kill my dog, no (as my wife felt compelled to point out). But I didn’t kill her dog either.

Right now, as far as I’m concerned, I would be fine not being friends with anybody. I’m as angry, more so actually, at my wife. She encouraged it and laughed at it and now she’s giving me shit and telling me to apologize. We had an exchange over text about it, which I ended with, “when I get home tonight, don’t talk to me.”

I hope she doesn’t talk to me for days. Maybe if people weren’t in my life I could live the way I want to live, for once. I’m in a mood, I know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it will wear off, but I don’t know if I want it to.

5AM

Her mom didn’t love her, what’s my excuse? I read this and it made me think about the recurring anger I have  towards my parents, yet they aren’t so bad I can actually blame them for anything. And then someone else posted about senior projects at my old school, Bard college, and I actually commented that I wish I had stayed to do a senior project, got a few likes for my failure to achieve that, and thought about how it could have been my first novel, if I had stuck it out in lit, and still I haven’t written that first novel. But at the time I thought it would have to be good. The portent of a senior project, especially with the problems I was having late in my career there choosing a major, probably contributed to my flight. Although mostly it was because the Math department only had two professors and they both left just as I was declaring my major. Was it me? And so again, I feel like a failure, and here I am, so old already, and such a failure and whose fault is it? I guess it doesn’t matter whose fault it is because the consequences are mine and that would have made it my responsibility to do something about it.

I have spent my whole life saying I want to do things and failing at them. I got to go out to LA to  pitch ideas to star trek and then i didn’t keep trying. I may have achieved some other things, I can be proud of myself, but the things I SAY I want to do, the things I have always said are important to me, what I’ve called “dreams,” I’ve failed at them all.  At 52, what am I supposed to do with that?  I’m supposed to get up at 5AM every morning and write and not stop doing that until I am dead, that’s what.  There’s only one way to prove that it’s not too late, and that’s to do it, whether I believe that’s possible or not. Achieve something or die trying. Go out fighting.   

One of the things that bothers me about finally achieving some of these things so late is that the people who saw potential in me as a child might all be dead. These are the people I want to make proud. But I suppose the people who knew me as a child aren’t the only ones I could make proud of me. My kids could be proud of me. My friends. I need to let go of that little child, that young adult, that thirty something kid, like I still want to be that person I never was. I need to stop trying to write like that, hoping people who read me can’t tell that I’m older than that. I need to own my age and write like that’s my stage in life, honestly and authentically. I have to stop being scared that people will be turned off if I admit to them that I’ve gotten this far already and have so little to show for it.

I have lost a little confidence in my ability to write a better story by spending more time on it.  Last week I put more effort into my friday blog, worked on it every day, I even goofed off at work to spend more time on rewrites and edits because I wasn’t getting up at 5AM as consistently as I wanted to. But it got worse and worse, until finally I had to fulfill my commitment to myself to post it regardless, and it was a confusing contradictory rambling mess that I have since edited down, just to make it a bit shorter, so now the food’s no good AND the portion is small. Sometimes that happens. But the truth is that it gets worse before it gets better. Because what happened is that I had started with a conclusion and a point and the more I worked on it the more I realized things about myself that contradicted my original point upending what I thought. I was in the middle of a process in which I was on a path of self-revelation that might have landed me at a conclusion opposite the one I started with, but I was in the middle when Friday came.

Colombia

DrummingI’m so spoiled.  When I was a child my family used to drag me from New York City to Old Lyme Connecticut where Lyme Disease was just emerging, though I wouldn’t contract it for another 40 years or so, to the beach where my father liked to soak up the sun every single day. I got bored with that pretty fast and had to try to find other things to do. It wasn’t very commercial at the Old Lyme town beach, but that’s another reason I don’t like beaches these days: too commercial.

I never wanted to go to Connecticut, I was a city boy and all of my friends were in the city, and there were things to do in the city when you didn’t have to go to school anymore, it’s like one big playground, and I still feel like I missed out, not being there those hot muggy summers, but I made friends in Connecticut too, and I learned how to climb trees and explore windy roads on our bikes and to swim, sort of. And it would cool off at night, sometimes.

And they had the best ice cream I ever had, Hallmark’s.  But nothing lasts forever.

Everyone wants to go to Cartegena, Colombia (not Columbia) these days now that it’s safer there than it used to be. But its a beach and its commercial, and that’s just not my thing having become “founded” on it in my youth. The beaches are not the most beautiful in the world either, but they’re certainly as nice as Connecticut beaches (even if the water is a bit too warm to actually cool you off), and the constant harassment from people trying to sell you hats or bracelets or water would detract from the experience, even if I did like beaches.

But it has a lot going for it.  Ceviche for instance.  And the cabs are not expensive. And the people are nice. And if you don’t make eye contact, if you can get right with feeling rude, the salespeople give up on you pretty quickly so you don’t have to waste your time or theirs.  I was there this past weekend with my wife. We said no to so many hat salesmen, until on our last day, at the top of the hill upon which sits La Popa – a cathedral from which you get an expansive view of the city – a sole hat salesman came over and put a hat on my wife’s head, and it looked good on her.

So, we bought two.  Just in time to leave. I also bought some Oakey sunglasses.  They look like Oakley’s  but they’re Oakeys. I needed them, after I lost my others, because it was bright outside.

I got to practice my Spanish, eat some good seafood, drink good coffee and meet a volunteer tour guide who for about $70 US ($200,000 in Peso) spent 4 or 5 hours showing us around, driving us to places, in his own beat up Mazda.  He even showed us his neighborhood and introduced us to his family.  If we wanted to he would have taken us to a cockfight, or secured us weed (he suggested it) or hookers (I’m guessing). But my wife and I didn’t want any of that, not this trip. He was a nice guy, and we trusted him. When he left us at the fort and waited for us outside, we could have ditched him, and he hadn’t collected any money yet, nor would he have known how to find us. He trusted us as we trusted him. Spending the day with our “rent-a-friend” was probably the best day of the trip.

But there was also some good African drumming.

Miles

And that mural of Miles Davis too.

But man, they are proud of their chocolate.  $10 a bar? creo que no.