Thimble Full of Whine

I need to get rid of my friends. They're good people, and I like them, but they always want to *do* stuff with me, which strongly impairs my ability to be a hermit. At least four of them want me to hang out with them tomorrow evening, and I suspect there would be more if I was not deliberately obfuscating the fact that I'm currently in town. It's unreasonable, I tell you. How am I supposed to be a tortured artist when everyone is determined to *like* me?

I spent most of the morning acting righteous and affronted, although not about this repellant "friend" issue. Instead, I was writing a letter to the Wythe District Court about my traffic ticket. I'm demanding a jury trial and the service of a competent defense lawyer - both of which they're required to provide me under constitutional law. (God bless America.) This made me quite happy, because I got to quote the Constitution all over the place, and it may be my favorite document ever written. I'm hoping/wagering that they'll be annoyed enough with me that they'll drop the case in hopes of never, ever having to deal with me again. Besides, it would be uneconomical not to, for a $30 ticket. (If you find yourself in a similar situation, check out Article VI and Amendments VI and VII.)

In other news, I've been going through some old story ideas of mine, and have found some truly wonderful snips that I never developed and had completely forgotten about. This is terribly comforting, because it's been a long time since I've written an original story. (There have been plays, but that's *very* different.) And recently, I've been so non-productive that it's *bleeding* me. (This I blame partially on the "too many friends" issue, which I intend to go into in greater depth, but not right now.)

I need to stop stalling and *write*.

Old Hat, New Hat (Red Hat, Blue Hat)

I'm feeling somewhat better now, as several of the friends who I *don't* intend to get rid of have reassured me that they find me repulsive and detestible. (Thanks, y'all.) In addition, I'm sitting in someone else's house, on someone else's bed, in someone else's pajamas, drinking water out of a vase. (Valancy brought it back from Spain. It's a *terrible* vase - it's short and squat and ceramic, and it has a dreadfully busy floral pattern on it. It's hideous as a vase. But it's very amusing to me as a stein.) This cheers me, as I am reminded of my own surreal place in the world.

I promised I would explain my seemingly abrupt (although actually festering) moratorium on friends. It is best summarized by the following statement:

I don't like to hang out. It is a source of extreme stress to me, because the opportunity cost is overly high. It is one thing to have friends along with me as I go about the processes of my life - that's wonderful. It is also pleasant to unwind with them after accomplishing something (i.e. a cast party after a play). Likewise, I enjoy spending time with people I haven't seen for a long time, or people who inspire me.

My current friends, (also known as Val's friends, who decided to adopt me,) are good people. I like most of them, and they don't generally make what they consider to be unreasonable demands. Nevertheless, I find I have little use for them. They're all terribly . . . normal. Understand that my entire life all of my friends have been artists, musicians, actors, and writers. This includes my entire family, where reasonable jobs are thought to be things like hypnotist, stand-up comedian, judokai, costume mistress, and banjo player. If I ran away and joined the circus, (something I've seriously considered,) they would probably be very happy for me.

This whole "normal" thing is really bringing me down. It's quite stressful to be the entertaining, fascinating one all the time. I'm used to being the boring one, the straight man. The voyeur who absorbs the moment and then writes it in a way other people could understand.

When I spend time with them, they want to sit and talk - but not about philosophy, not about story ideas, not about plans. They just want to talk about their day, or a TV show they watched. Or they want me to act as their psychologist, which I am genuinely happy to do for them, but which doesn't help *me* at all. Or they want to go out and get something to eat, or go to a club, or watch a movie.

I hate clubs. I enjoy good food, but I don't like to be tied down to it - a couple of months ago, I fasted for 5 days just because I was annoyed by the fact that I can't photosynthesize. I love good movies in the way that only a filmmaker can, but they never want to see *good* movies. And then we don't discuss them, we just go home.

The simple thing to say here is: "Romie, be proactive. Stop this self-centered whining nonsense. If you're unhappy with their choices, take control. Go to the zoo, go to the wax museum, organize watergun fights."

I'm too tired. I'm too tired of always being the one to suggest things. I'm too tired of always being the one in control, because it means that I *have* no control - I have to decide what *they* want to do *for* them.

Aside from that, the things I really want from them are things they'd just *be*, not anything they'd do. I want them to have flights of fancy. I want them to pretend. I want them to write, and draw, and play improv games, and put on absurdist plays, and wear silly hats, and MST any TV show we watch.

But they don't. I think they'd try if I asked them to, but they'd never understand what I needed from them.

And so I despair of having friends. Some of them do not fall into the category described above - some of them I find charming, ennervating . . . wonderous. Them I intend to keep as long as they'll have me. But I'm not quite sure what to do with the others. It's very difficult to tell people that you don't want to associate with them anymore, particularly when they're kind people who've done nothing wrong. It's even harder when they're convinced that they *need* you, that you're the competent loving one who will never let them down.

But whenever I hang out with them, I feel that I'm wasting my life. They are the thieves of time.

To close on a more positive note, I'm really looking foward to Atlanta.