We Texted: “More Whine! Pass the Cheese!”

breakfast

Here is a paraphrase of some of my online rambled anger to a friend (who is an adoptive mother to a young lady of color) about the “not guilty” verdict for Zimmerman this weekend.

…I’ll get off my soapbox now. Maybe I’d be doing better to continue my devotion to Cheerios and continue to pray by way of singing “row, row, row your boat.”

While my dogs were taking me for a walk last night I started to worry a bit about what I may have written in that thread of responses to her tearful reaction to the verdict. My intention was to support her, but I went straight into my particular upset and anger.

I stopped mid park and tried to bring up Facebook on my phone to read what I said, butthe-Muppets-movie-posters-the-muppets-26849004-75-120 sweat and dog tangle kept me on the move.

By the time I got home and tried out the key lime pie (it was only so, so), and got into dry clothes, and took the dogs out…again…and settled onto the couch…the effort to go slowly through the scrolls on my kindle over rulled my need to reconsider if I had said something offensive or hurtful.

Earlier in the day a college roomate made a couple of comments during a fun but chaotic attempt toward texted conversation between her, me and a third best friend. This friend, who is summer traveling, was sorting through some feelings about an early morning conversation. Two different times later in the day, she said to us:

Thank you for listening. I don’t mean to whine.

Which we teased by saying something to the effect of:

More Whine! We miss you! Pass the cheese.BPN2n5-CUAAUZYn 

The interesting part is that, far better than I with my sweaty, dog tangle, pie focused evening goal to permanently plop and give in to my day…she had texted a few times that she already, hours after the uncomfortable conversation, had plans to revisit what had been said and ask for clarification. She also had thoughts on how she was going to find a way to tactfully assert a few things of her own so that her recent hard earned confidence is not left unspoken, which could end the visit on a less satisfactory note.

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It didn’t work out to confirm this, but I’d say that all three of us were better able to enjoy our Sunday while our interuppted conversations fizzled out on the liberating note that, now that we have battled our way into 40’s, we each waste far less time worrying about being liked.

And, I am now all the more homesick for both of them, and frustrated at the lack of time and ease to communicate without interupption or distraction. (Insert here sensory illustrations of the smell of sweat and sounds of meatloaf timers going off).

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Yet, I’m waking up this morning feeling like we texted a toast to us and our hard earned, OlderAndWiserThanWeWere approach to our days.

Then again, it is only 7:31 a.m.

 

 We shall see…all manner of things…we shall see….

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Confession: I’d Rather Type Than Talk to You

Knock, knock? Anyone home?

I always feel bad when I’ve not been here posting or reading. When I take these breaks it always begins with busyness, but ends with pitiful return to the computer with the mindset that no one missed me in the sphere.

That’s the problem with the internet. It’s all so, so sphere-y.

For ultra introverts like myself, social media is a haven and a temptation. It is so, so much easier for me to sit here and converse with friends, foes or figments of real communication when it is by way of the word wide-spread.

I

have

complete

control.

No seriously. Yeah, yeah, bla, bla – the net’s a powerful and potentially dangerous place and invariably leads to lots of eye poking.

I’m pretty scrupulous though, even in my emails. Most of my grandmother’s were much more wild than I am. This makes it hard to go with Dr. Phil’s advise to never type anything that would be embarrassed to have my grandmother see. I use my youngest son as a yard stick though, and try to not to even go all sister potty mouth in email or chat functions.

He’s hitting fifth grade in a week though, so now that I think of it, I need to start typing with my little niece in mind.

For me, the slippery slope is that belief that the internet IS the communication I’m working toward, not a means to an end which is “real” connection.

Real connection, as in, just a few minutes ago I caught a friend from the little town we moved from a year ago. I’ve not seen her in person on any of the multiple trips back.

Sunrise on the Ohio River, Ripley Ohio

Her life is busy beyond busy, and when we visit – so is mine as we only have a few days to catch up with a lot of folks. One of the last times I visited I had an hour window of time and sent her a wake up text at 7:00 a.m. (this indicates that she is “real” friend).

She’d been up for an hour or some such and actually had to be somewhere for a photo shoot or some such (no joke, she’s kind of a celebrity), so we started planning for a visit this coming fall over labor day weekend.

All of this is to say, that this morning when we were typing our hellos we could have called – and “voice connected.”

Ha. I just made that up and it sounds so millennial when used as a verb.

definition (verb) Voice Connect: Expressing such euphemisms as “I miss you” and “you are SO bomb” by way of vocal cord vibrations rather than digital typenations that involve kissy faces made of punctuation marks.

I was so excited to catch her by “chat” and thought about searching out the phone and calling. It would have made her late for work probably, because we would have had a hard time hanging up. As an ultra extrovert though…she would have handled it fine and loved it, because her days are filled with conversation and noise so she can safely assume that we’ll pick back up as planned in September.

Me. Introvert? It would have woken up my son and I’d be on early toast duty. For me, It would have been emotionally hard to hear her voice since I (voluntarily) spend so much time in the quiet and know that chances are good that the only voices that I hear at length will be some or all of my family of men today.

I’m cool with that.

Really. It’s why I love the sphere! I can surf my heart away and connect by way of the net any time I want.

I need to be careful to not get too much virtual groove on, because it’s the means to connect, not the goal, rightO?