Lost spoons, lessons learned.

Ever find yourself in a situation where you are interacting with a person you know well, or at least you thought you knew well? You look back on the time you knew this person and you remember something different. You remember a different person. You think know this person and then you do not. When or how did the knowledge change? Maybe you evolved and they regressed? You are not sure. 

It is unsettling to notice this. I suppose when you find yourself in a position where you are investing a large portion of your time (in this case, being awake) to this person that is can be unsettling. And tiring. How on earth is it so tiring? Why is interaction with this person so exhausting?

The interaction is now in the past, but you are still coping with the aftermath. You used up all your spoons and your reserves interacting with this person. My brain is walking in numerous directions trying to understand what happened? When did I stop knowing this person?

Instead of enjoying the moment, you are walking on needles, hot coals, and razor blades. You are willing yourself to be patient, to not lose your temper, and you count down the hours until the interaction is complete.

You want your spoons back. You want all of them back.

I want my spoons back. I will not get them back.

In the future, I will need to be more mindful of keeping my spoons for me.

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Friends don’t let friends exploit one another

I am a good person. I like being a good person and doing things for other people. If I am not looking out for me, I would say that I like helping people out, even if it causes distress for me, because it makes them happy. Some part of me feels if other people are happy around me, because of me, then I can feel good about myself. It is stupid, I know. I am finally dealing with this behavior.

And I do, albeit for a short time. Then, there comes a time where I could use their help. Instead what I get are excuses why they cannot help me. Or I am ignored. Or I get this response “Sorry, I have no time, but hey, can you do me a huge favor?”

I feel my last job followed along very similar lines. I did the clichéd “above and beyond” year after year, with no rewards or recognition. It is because I am a good person. I keep telling myself I am a good person.

Why do I feel this need to be a good person, even to people who are not good to me? For me? More so, why is it so important that I need these people to like me? Is this a behavioral thing I learned while I was growing up? Maybe. Possibly. Very well could be. Sure, it is a behavioral thing, but I can change this. I am changing this.

Possibly, this is why right now, instead of being paranoid about one of those “exploiting friends”  ignoring me right now, I feel annoyance. I listen and acknowledge you. It is time for you to listen and acknowledge me.

Friendships are supposed to be shared between two people. Friends should be supportive of each other. They should not exploit the friendship. Year after year, I have done things for this friend, professionally-related things, where she did not acknowledge it as what I do for a living. If I were to put into financial terms what I have done for this one friend, I could pay one month’s rent for a decent 1 + 1 bedroom apartment, in a nice area of Studio City. Instead, I got a $50 gift card months later, as well as several sob stories about how money is tight at the moment, because “you know, kids and their medical bills and all.” Sure. I understand, as I now have to dig into my savings to pay my bills because I am short this month because you could not pay. But hey. at least I have free coffee.

It is one of those reasons why I ended my previous career at the end of last year. I was tired of being exploited by friends who thought they could get a good deal because we were friends. Yes, we were friends.

I guess I needed to release a little there.

An Annual Afterthought

If I were to place a percentage of good versus the bad in the span of a year, I would have to say that the year is 90% good and 10% bad. The bad, as always, seems worse than it is.

With regards to that 10% bad, it can be further broken down to 7% during the holiday season (that being November to December) and the other 3% being this past week. Most interestingly is that it is this past week that tends upsets me more than the other 7%.

You see, this past weekend, was my birthday. I received one card from my family. I got birthday texts, but two of those felt like last minute “oh right, it is your birthday.”

It is how it has been for the past several years. At this time of year, I feel like an afterthought.

Sure, I can say that this year it was because of my grandmother’s death. However, every year, it is not one thing it is another. It is always something.

It hurts. I admit it does hurt.

Also, it is alright. I am okay with it. It is only one day. Sure, it is my birthday, but I have already had 41 birthdays prior to this one. I will have many more.

I am not really convincing, am I?

It is good luck, right?

It rained on my wedding day. Okay, it rained on my wedding reception day. I cannot begin to tell you how many people told us that it means good fortune. I am sure it does. Still, it rained on my wedding day.

It has not rained on that day, in that town, in over ten years. It did not rain the day before. It did rain a little the day after. But argh. really?

And, like the rain, my cold was nice enough to wait until after (or maybe sometime during) the wedding. A few hours after, it came and hit me full force.

So, that is where I have been. Sometimes, sharing is caring. Unless, you have a cold and you share that cold with others. That is not really caring. That is just plain mean. Keep your cold to yourself. Now chicken pox, that is a different story all together.

But I stray.

Or do I?

What was I talking about?

Call of the Wild?

This morning, the past thirteen minutes to be precise, I have been inundated with numerous squeals and sounds from outside.

Was that a cat in heat? No. It was a child screaming for help.

Was that a peacock? No. It was another child in full tantrum shrills.

If I hear these sounds later in the day, I am less bothered. They are children and usually they are tired and in need of naps.

But in the mornings, I feel like Old Woman Caruthers and I want to take to my balcony and shout “Hey you pesky kids! Get off my lawn!!!” Or “Quit your squealing! I am trying to watch my stories!!”

Maybe it is time to move to a remote mountain top where the only sounds I hear are the shrieks of a hawk soaring through the sky.

Or, maybe I just get over it and look deeper into my limited patience and lack of any empathy for a screaming child.