Interaction

Last week was one of those times when my personality was in relative demand, but my hermit side was requesting I cease and desist with the extraversion. Without fail, I find I’m dying of boredom the second my Lone Ranger persona rides off into the sunset—and without fail, I sit with fingers a-tappin’, wishing my pals would pick up the phone, return an email, or rally for an adventure.

But instead I’m left to entertain myself. Serves me right, I know.

Responsibilities will realign, moods will shift, and connections will happen. In the meantime, I find there’s nothing like non-verbal communication to keep me from twiddling my thumbs and pinkies into exhaustion.

…sometimes when one’s out of sync with people, a dialogue with objects offers just the right amount of stimulation…

(top to bottom: Scenes from a Sunday—truck cab communication; oasis peek-a-boo; sidewalk soap opera)

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“No one is looking at your socks”

Because I am a math-is-hard-Barbie kind of feminist, I have no interest in figuring out just how many mixed messages I received when I was growing up.

But if I leave society out of it and just focus on my parents for a moment, I can reach a rough estimate using the following formula:

(2) people whose views often conflicted internally as well as with each other x infinity = a shitload of contradictory messages

Sometimes, when navel-gazing (refreshingly, both my parents disparaged this activity) I get why starting new endeavors or pursuing success or making the most of what I have is not really my thing. I mean, I had “your best could be a lot better” coupled with “if you’re trying your hardest that’s all that matters,” which ok…I can just ignore the former, right?

But then you start adding in the related sub-sub instructions of “don’t hide your light under a bushel barrel” and “Who cares if you can’t find matching socks? For godsakes, forget about yourself for five seconds and get in the car. No one is looking at your socks!” and it gets a bit more complicated.

Especially if you’re the type who finds herself looking at other people’s socks.

And if you’re looking at theirs, don’t you think there’s a damn good chance that somewhere, sometime, someone will be looking at yours? Yeah, I thought so.

So frankly the statement was ACCURACY FAIL then, and thanks to the internet “no one is looking at your ‘socks’!” is even more of a fail. Because the internet is full of filthy link-clickers. Or so I’ve heard.