Author’s Note: This post relates to no one in particular. Choosing to take this post personally and feeling like you are personally attacked is your decision and will result in you getting the shoe. Specifically, something similar to these…only more worn down, and smelly…very smelly.
Drama is something I despise. I think I’ve mentioned it multiple times. Now, of course, if you hand me a well written piece of drama, say Midsummer Night’s Dream or Doll’s House or The Cherry Orchard, now we can have a long talk about characterization or writing styles or culture or history or how John Corbett in Northern Exposure had a great…voice. Yup. I was all about that voice, bout that voice, bout that voice no….never mind.
Okay…so in the last couple of months, I have been thinking about getting the Boy a cell phone. The Husband’s response is “Hell no! Why does he need a phone?” And then I think about things from the Husband’s angle and I agree with Him. The Boy does not need a phone because his school is a half mile from mine. The Boy has one after school activity per week and, frequently, it’s cancelled and the Boy sends me a message via Google-docs to tell me that the after-school-activity has been cancelled. The Boy talks about emergencies. So far, his emergencies have ranked up there with zero. Then, the Boy says that he needs a phone in case I am in a car accident. My response is that he can borrow the cell phone of the person who is in the accident with me and call 9-11 along with all the people who are rubber-necking. Note, I do have a cell phone. I just never carry it. Because I hate it. I like walking away from my life and leaving in it in the house or at the school or at the gym. I would rather put a few things in the trash can…but that’s another post for another day. Actually, I have nothing to post regarding that little metaphor…but I was thinking about how I would be feeling if I was dealing with something unpleasant…which I’m not.
In talking with a brother-in-law about the Boy getting a cell phone, the b-i-l said that cell phones created nothing but drama. Of course, I started to wonder about that. How could a cell phone create drama? It’s nothing more than a little machine about the size of a deck of cards…and not even tarot cards. Just cards.
But watching my niece, the subject of my b-i-l’s analysis and how her phone is nothing more than a vestigial digit on this girl’s hand, I realized how much drama is created by such a minuscule device. Because that young woman doesn’t walk away from her life. It follows her in her back pocket. The sound effects burping from that little device are non-stop and the dexterity of her thumbs are pretty amazing.
My b-i-l said that when he confiscates her phone as an act of punishment, he notices that she will literally, physically change. The drama is gone and in having the digital umbilical cord cut, she is able to also sever herself from all the residual mess that exists outside of the brick and mortar home.
When I was her age, nearly 30 years ago, the pain of high school/middle school stopped at the front door. I was the unpopular kid and no one called me at my house. I didn’t get prank called. I didn’t get toilet-paper-rolled. If anything, I was ignored. Which was fine. I am an introvert. If you want to punish me, pay attention to me.
But something I’ve noticed as an adult is that it seems like adults still live in the glories of high school drama. When listening to the news, specifically the local news, it seems as though the most common occurrence is for people to get upset about something silly and then post about it on Twitter or Facebook and then react to it through digital media and continue to respond to it. Of course, it’s all done rather subtly so that everyone can deny what was said. You know, the whole, “That wasn’t about you” stuff. Or the “I didn’t mean it that way” angle.
I know I posted something like this on cattiness recently. This is actually supposed to be different from cattiness. Just bear with me. Hey! Another animal reference…maybe that’s what I’m trying to write about…animals.
One thing I appreciate about the Husband is that he says exactly what he means. He doesn’t hide it with tonal shifts, body language, metaphors, or subtleties. He merely says exactly what he thinks and lets the world react around him. But, in the end, I know what he means and what he thinks which means that we don’t have drama because our relationship or at least his relationship with me is rather transparent. I, on the other hand, am such a paranoid non-confrontationist that I will hide my emotions as much as I can (and fail at it too) in order to keep from causing him (people) upset, sadness, frustration, or unhappiness. Which means that I don’t say what I am thinking which causes me to stress and then I write more stupid posts that don’t actually get posted because they might upset someone or cause them sadness or frustration or unhappiness.
Damn, I feel like I am on a carousel, going in circles but moving nowhere.
I graduated from high school 25 years ago. And I’m coming to see more and more why things like Facebook aren’t so wonderful because they keep us connected. It’s because we hide behind our texts and ambiguous posts that we maintain the same adolescent silliness from twenty-five years ago. This is as bad as the embarrassing time I stuck “love” poetry in a guy’s locker. I really did like him. I didn’t love him. But I couldn’t fess up to it at the time. I had to hide and, essentially, manipulate him. In the end, I did confess and we maintained a lovely friendship until time and distance broke us apart.
I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook. I love that I get to keep up with so many people and hear about how they are doing. But, at the same time, I also am witness to people lowering themselves and stooping to puerile methods of hurting one another. I didn’t hurt that young man with my foolish “love” poetry. I made him uncomfortable which was unfair of me.
I do my best (I am human…I will fail) to keep the drama out of Facebook. To invoke the cliche, I think drama is best on the stage. Can we all agree to keep it there?
If you’re looking for me, I’ll be in the audience, front row center. Given I’m a short woman, I like sitting in the front so no one can block my view. I hate it when they do that.
Or when they post on Facebook during the production. Geez! Get off the damn phone and back into life.