1) Barb. We go to the theater together. She orders the Broadway on Chicago subscription. That way we have a reason to get together on a regular basis. Otherwise, she reasons, we'll drift apart. I completely laud her intentions, but she forgets to write the playdates down and then I end up scrambling for a seat filler. She's doing it again this coming week for Pippin. Of course she is. Maybe I won't go. Maybe I'll go alone. (That doesn't bother me.) But I don't feel like asking someone else to accompany me. I don't like anyone well enough these days.
2) Rose. Ah, Cousin Rose. Once again exhibiting why I love her but don't like her. We're related on our mothers' side, which gives us each a father's side filled with relatives we don't share. When she goes on and on about cousins, nieces and nephews I either haven't met or don't recall, I feign interest and try to ask polite questions. Most recently, it concerned her taking young-uns to NASA and Cape Kennedy. Again, I don't care. But to be nice, I asked if the name hadn't been restored to Cape Canaveral. She wrote back that was something I could just "look up on Wikipedia." How about you fuck yourself? I took several deep breaths and counted to 10 a few times before answering that letter.
3) Kathleen. Last year, when we celebrated my birthday/her birthday and Christmas, she gave me a card and said we had a date to see a Cub game at the renovated Wrigley Field. The season started in April. When, in May, she still hadn't mentioned it, I sent her a list of games and dates that were good for me through July 26. May ... June ... July. I told her I didn't want to do August because I don't like heat, and September is always iffy because rainouts are notoriously hard to reschedule at that late date.
First she set a date in June. Then she changed it because her daughter's college roommate would be visiting and wanted to join us, so she chose another date. Then she cancelled that one because her husband wanted to take her to a concert that night. Then I had to commit to the first weekend in August, even though I didn't want to go that late in the season, so she could coordinate with both her adult son (he now lives in Detroit) and daughter. Then she cancelled that one because it's too confusing for her son and daughter and what about September? I told her to forget it. If it's too hard, we just shouldn't do it. 'SHUT UP," she emailed back. "I love you and want to see you." That was July 17. I still haven't heard back.
So basically, it seems, she's trying to consolidate my birthday -- which was more than eight months ago now -- with spending the afternoon with her kids. And when it comes to dates and preferences, it's obvious my wishes come in third, after her kids'. I'm hurt and embarrassed. Clearly this is not a priority for her, and it would be less humiliating if we just forget about it.
4) My Clown Car cohabitants and everyone else at work. Can't stand their faces. Need a day off desperately. All I really did today was nap, because the thought of going in and facing them, my grumpy old boss and Long Tall Sally -- who, while well meaning, really is insane -- exhausts me.
And I have to keep remembering -- SIR PAUL IS THIS FRIDAY. SIR PAUL IS THIS FRIDAY. SIR PAUL IS THIS FRIDAY.
Face forward, Old Gal. To paraphrase his lordship, it's going to get better, a little better all the time ...