Saturday ramble

You've heard me go on and on and on about gifts--how graciousness is generally good, but sometimes problematic. Sometimes=when the gift is inappropriate, not when you merely dislike it. It can be inappropriate because it is too intense, intimate, or expensive in proportion to one's relationship with the giver, (and/)or it could be inappropriate because of overt intent or hidden undertones--whether it's an expectation of quid pro quo, or an attempt to influence the recipient in an unwanted way. It could be a combination of all of the above. I've received gifts from men that are inappropriate because they were given after I explicitly told these men to stop giving me gifts, and in those cases I mustered the courage to overcome the expectation of graciousness. My mother, in her more functional days, often tried to push gifts on me--clothes, furniture--that I did not want or have room for, and they were inappropriate because there was an element of control: she, not I, would decide what I wore and how I furnished my house. And how much money would be spent on those things. Oh, the pushback when I bought a new suit for a job interview, when I could have gone to Goodwill! And--just as when I mentioned in passing that I was getting a (paid) haircut--who did I think I was? I was, am someone who, unlike my mother, leaves the house and interacts with people professionally and socially, and has a lot of hair. I invest in a decent haircut, or I have to deal with my hair every day. My well-meaning friend (WMF) once said something similar: "I would never spend that much money on a haircut." 

But I digress. I'm here (partly) because my WMF just gave me, not for the first time, some thrift-shop finds that were a bit small for her. Now, I have no problem with thift shops; I shop at them myself. And I had no problem the first time she did this, but now that it's becoming a habit, I want to discourage it (and I think my lack of graciousness may have done the trick). I don't want her to buy stuff thinking that if it's too small, she can just give it to me. I don't want to deal with it. I don't want or need other people to buy me clothes. Clothes are a personal thing--they have to work for you, as I often told my mother as she tried to convince that whatever item of clothing she was pushing on me was very in-style. It doesn't matter if something is the trendiest thing ever; if it doesn't fit your body or your personality, don't wear it.

As with mom's gifts of furniture, these were items I was unwilling to pretend I wanted. I didn't want WMF asking after them (i.e., was I wearing them) and I certainly didn't have room for them in my closets and drawers. We eventually got to 'okay, well then give them back to Goodwill,' but not before WMF tried to convince me that this cardigan would look perfect over a black dress. Because I'm a terrible person, I bitched to two mutual friends about having to fight off these gifts. Both not only agreed that the items were unattractive and not me, but appreciated my frustration with WMF, even as she meant well. I told Camille about WMF's over-a-dress idea.

A.: The whole reason I wear dresses is so I don't have to match clothes. I don't want to wear anything over my dresses. I want to put on a single thing and go.
Camille: You sure do. [Shaking her head.] She doesn't know you very well at all.



WMF has known me for years (at least 5), and Camille for less than a year--though traveling together will accelerate the get-to-know-you process. It was notable that Camille figured me out so quickly, and WMF probably never would. It wasn't a matter of time; it was a matter of blinders. When your world view is so strong that you can't fathom how differently other people think and are, you're stuck.

I thought about this when I read an email from my dad this morning, in which he chided me for being insufficiently conversational with mom over Skype. This is frustrating to me not only because I try (and she's unresponsive), but because I already feel strained with these forced every-other-day Skype sessions. Dad cannot seem to call me earlier than 9-9:30pm, when I really don't want to be talking to anyone, and can't seem to understand that I have nothing to say since we last talked. It's been two (week)days. I've been at work. I haven't been up to anything. It was like when RM would come downstairs first thing in the morning and ask me how my day was going. I don't know, dude--I just got up. I know it's just an attempt at socializing but it feels like work to me, to come up with something to say when there's nothing to say. 

Some friends and I were talking about introversion and social exhaustion. I'd noted that I felt perfectly comfortable having real conversations with people, but that small talk was incredibly draining for me. Another friend noted that she was fine in conversations where she felt safe, which really resonated even though it was something I never thought about before. I never felt safe with RM, period, and I certainly don't feel safe talking to my mother. I don't mean physically safe; I mean emotionally safe. With mom, you're always on the defensive: why are you home, or not home? why is your hair like that? how much did you spend on your haircut? There's hardly anything I can tell her without her taking the opportunity to criticize and judge, so I stopped telling her anything. And now dad wants me to start again.

Dad doesn't judge, really--not out loud, anyway--but there's some of that 'what did you do at school today' dynamic at play. I didn't do anything at work that he would understand or find interesting. Everything's fine. I'm sorry that I have nothing else to say. After all, we just talked. I get why he wants to talk every couple of days, but that doesn't change the fact that I'll have nothing to say. So here, look at the cat. What, that's not enough now? You want substantive conversation? I'm sorry, I've got nothing. I work, I come home from work. That's all I've got. If I'm lucky, something's blooming and I can tell you about that. If there's anything else, I'll let you know. But don't f*ing make me sit here when I want to be winding down and getting ready for bed, and then complain about how I have nothing to say.