Of One-Way Friendships

One Way Street

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There’s nothing quite like friendship. Right?

It brings people together: they laugh, they dance, they sing songs, they get deep (real deep), they get drunk, they go on adventures, they rant, they go on and on about their romantic lives (or lack there of), I could write this list for hours. I love friends, more specifically, I love my friends.

But … more than once, in fact, more than thrice I’ve ended up in one-way friendships.

These are tiring, and usually occur once a human being reaches a point of expecting – meaning that they just assume that I’ll organize things. Or a point of taking me for granted – meaning that they know I’ll always be there. In both cases, I’m the one who has to make all the phone calls, organize plans, re-organize plans when suddenly they can’t make it. I get a lot of silence on their end and, “Oh my God I’m so sorry.”

Like my time isn’t as valuable as their’s, as if I don’t have homework, a job, a family, or other people I’m trying to balance. Apparently I have all the time in the world to sit around and wait for their convenience. Here’s the point of this rant: make time for your friends people, especially if plans you made plans in advance.

I wish it was as easy as toss them to the side, who needs that kind of friendship? Truth is I’m bad at ending friendships, I want to keep my friends – as I said earlier, I love them. Who likes to break up with somebody or enjoys confronting them about unfair behavior? No one.

I’ve been forced to walk away from a few best friends. It sucks, and there’s always a lingering bitterness. It’s worse than breaking up with a partner – because friendship isn’t as simple as we single or taken. Friendship cuts deeper, makes for allowances, and hopes that the other person will come around. Ending a friendship feels like a betrayal.

At the same time, if a person is putting zero effort into your friendship, they’ve created a problem that is nearly impossible to remedy. So to the people who live a life with one-way friendships it’s time to adhere to the age-old question: should I stay or should I go? (and yes, please start singing now).

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Of My Ride in a Cop Car

Girl Walking Outside - Awesome Coat

I want that cloak.

Last night I almost punched my computer, kicked it across the room, and did a lovely tap dance on top of it, then repeat said actions on the entirety of WWU campus computer lab I was in. All because of a dang code writing project for one of my computer classes. Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with the painful details on writing PHP code and trying to incorporate CSS and HTML in order to make a cohesive webpage – though, it does make me sound super smart. The point is, because of this project I was on campus till 2:45AM. I easily could have been there till 5 or 6AM, but I wanted to catch the 3AM shuttle home.

___________________

It was cold. Hell, it was fucking freezing (note the oxymoron in the sentence and I’ll give you a dollar). It was the annoying kind of freezing where it looks warm. That happens a lot around here, it doesn’t snow often, so the cold feels extra cold because it looks like it’s actually 50+ degrees outside. It messes with your senses.

As I walked towards the bus stop I was convinced I was the only alert human being on campus. That moment would have been a great time to mug, rape, or murder me, for no one would notice till the normal waking hours. I was almost at the stop when I saw a bus turn the corner, that meant that I’d have to wait at minimum 15 minutes for the next bus to come along. I didn’t like that. Not at all.

The bus stop had the shuttle schedule posted, the last bus would arrive at 2:56AM and it was 2:48AM. I was psyched! Until at 2:56AM I watched the bus not turn down my direction, rather it took the road with NO BUS STOPS ON IT! The shuttle schedule lied! And now I was standing alone on the sidewalk in the dark and wintry weather. Obviously I was pissed, I practically started crying and had to resist the urge to do an angry dance like Kevin Bacon in Footloose.

I was in a state of limbo – should I call people or just walk?

I decided to call my close friends with cars, of course no one answered, considering the hour. Eventually I saw a cop drive by, then I watched it slow, U-turn and eventually pull up next to me. This is the second time this has ever happened to me. The first was at Jessy’s birthday party when I was drunk and hugging a fire hydrant – that’s a whole different story, I’ll write it later, promise.

It was a male cop, he questioned what I was doing out so late. I explained the shuttle situation to which he responded rather unsympathetically that it ends at three. I knew this, I told him about the bus driving passed me and how none of my friends answered their phones. He suddenly looked sympathetic, asked where I live, and motioned for me to get in the backseat.

The seat was hard plastic and the seat belt looked like it had been designed for a space ship. There was limited leg room and a glass window separating me from the officer. My first thought was, how do they arrest fat people? They’d never fit. The ride was awkwardly silent, I tried to break the ice: introduced myself – mostly I just said thank you a lot.

When we reached my apartment he got out, opened the door for me, and said, “It’s like a limo but less comfortable.”

I smiled, “I really appreciate it,” then walked towards my door while he drove away.

I really hope that is the last time I ride in the backseat of a cop car.

Of Writing Failure

Success and Failure Sign

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Recently I wrote about being a lazy writer, an epidemic that all procrastinating artists can surely relate to.

The thing is laziness is a state of being. A state which can be easily overcome if one truly wants to.

Lately I’ve been suffering from a different writer problem. Quite simply – writing failure.

I have not liked what I’ve been writing. Private or academic. I’m not even satisfied with this blog post. And when what I’ve put to paper is rushed for a class, I find that especially frustrating.

I’ll be honest. I’m a better writer than most. Fiction and Non-fiction. I’m not the best, but I’m better than most, and I think that if I was pushed (by either myself or someone else) I could be fantastic.

Last night I was trying to write an eight page short fiction for my morning class. I spent hours trying to write something that wasn’t cliché and generic with no luck. I had words on a page. But they were just that: words. There wasn’t anything of substance behind them. The character’s were dull, the plot was non-existent, and I had no ideas on how I could progress the characters or what could happen around them. It was lame. UBER lame. I was frustrated.

It was a failure moment.

Non-writer’s struggle to relate to this. They hear: yes the paper is good enough and guaranteed at least a B with little to no effort. They wonder why I don’t just turn it in.

It’s simple. My own personal standards. And those are way more influential on what and how I write than a teacher or a peer. If I don’t think it’s as good as my other writing. Or if it isn’t coming out on paper as I imagined it in my head. It’s not good enough. So I sit there, stressing out because I know I’m better than that. I know that there’s more here that I’m not seeing. I want to write my Les Misérable. Sadly my creativity is failing me, and I’m writing a stupid Twilight instead.

Isn’t that the deal though writer’s? And I’m sure this goes for other art forms as well. Most of what I create isn’t the bestest-thing-ever. Most of it is painstaking work that doesn’t turn out the way I hoped. But when it does, that’s mighty exciting, and that makes all those practice drafts where I learned what works and what doesn’t, where I tried a variety of styles worth it.

Ultimately all the failures (hopefully) are leading towards a success.

Here’s my failure time line of yesterday:

  • I had about five pages done but I hated ALL of it.
  • Around 11pm I started a whole new thing.
  • I wrote until 2am
  • Went to sleep and woke up at 6am
  • Got ready for the day
  • Got to campus at 7am
  • Wrote like a mad women (didn’t have time to revise, was almost long enough, thank God it’s a rough draft)
  • Turned in my assignment online at 8:29am (class started at 8:30am)
  • I was late to class