Weddings always seem to put me into a bad mood. Well, it would be more accurate to say that the accoutrements to weddings put me into a bad mood. I happen to like the ceremony quite a bit, enjoying seeing the commitment of one heart to another, the joining of two souls into one. No, I guess I just hate the receptions.
No, I don’t enjoy dancing nor loud music nor general revelry; I’m just not the type. But I think more than anything it is the proclivity at receptions to encounter the types of people I can avoid in daily life: false friends. Upon meeting, what talk naturally ensues is filled with joyful aphorisms, banal lives, and the ever constant reminder that I am alone. Not physically mind you, as I seem ever surrounded, but alone where it matters infinitely more.
As anyone who reads my blog knows, I have had two surgeries in the past 6 months. This of course leads to people talking, actual friends telling false friends about them, and leaving me to explain and talk ad nauseam to people who don’t actually care about my health about my health. Oh, I suppose you could argue that just in the asking that the person cares in some way, if we are not so cynical to simply cast the question as gossip. But to say I get annoyed when someone I see only at weddings, or simple happenstance, seeing them on average every 2 years or so, asks about my health and acts concerned and wishes me well would be an understatement.
Tell me it doesn’t feel like a verbal status update (not that I have ever used Facebook, but it seems plain enough). “Alive?” Check. “Better?” Check. “School?” Check. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. “Great, see you next time for the next status update.”
No, please tell me again how much you’ve missed me (you used to have my phone number and you could ask for it again). Tell me how much you care (to the point I see you bi-annually). Tell me how good it is to see me (see previous two parentheses).
Asinine. The games people play in the name of not hurting each other’s feelings are asinine. It is okay not to care about every person you have ever met, but can we please stop? I mean just stop all of the nonsense and bullcrap.
Oh, and yes please tell me about your new love interests and how I’ll find one someday. Yeah, I enjoy that a bunch. As if being alone for 31 years hasn’t been enjoyable enough, please tell me that “she’s out there” and that I’ll “find her someday”. And of course tell me how unbelievably wonderful I am and how I deserve an amazing woman and blah blah blah blah blah blah.
And when the hell did everyone start living such boring, watching-paint-drying lives. You moved up in the company? HOW VERY FASCINATING. PLEASE DO TELL ME MORE. You like to watch Game of Thrones? HOW TRULY AWE-INSPIRING AND FASCINATING. YOU ARE A UNIQUE INDIVIDUAL WITH IMPORTANT THINGS HAPPENING.
When did we become okay with living lives of no importance, of vapid entertainment, of no substance? Forget even that horrid event horizon: when did all of those become talking points to share with others? We can’t even lie to make our lives sound interesting, but instead brag about the absolute and unequivocal dullness that has come to gild our existence with matted grey?
No wonder I find myself spitting at the sky and cursing the ground, finding neither a sanctuary. The older I get, the more tired of this world I get. No, not the world per se, but the world of people, of social norms and custom and trivial lives soon forgotten. We are fools and liars and thieves, and worst of all we fool ourselves and lie to ourselves and steal from ourselves most. And if somehow we find ourselves on the outside, watching the horror, we find ourselves bitter and alone. After years of trying to cultivate relationships with others, just bitter and alone. Hell is being liked by people you love.