The day finally came. I used the “N” word.
No, not that “N” word.
I just flat outright told R., “No.”
She has grown increasingly jealous and petulant about my online life, especially as more and more Little Town people have come into that life via Facebook.
Yesterday I realized I had gone a whole week without seriously losing my temper. Annoyed, yes, but not fighting mad. I can’t even tell you the last time that has happened.
And I know exactly why. At least once a day, and usually much more often than that, I “talk” to somebody who knows what the Bloody Bucket is, who Red Smith was, and why the first weekend in August will always be “race meet.”
You’d think she’d be happy that I’m in a better mood, but instead, she’s jealous. Last night during supper my phone chirped. I’d been involved in a protracted three-way email conversation all afternoon. Granted, I probably shouldn’t have picked up my phone while we were eating, but I did.
R. lost it. I mean completely fricking lost it. Never mind that we had been having a very nice conversation, that I was paying attention to everything she said, or that I was replying to her last statement at the time I picked up the BlackBerry in such a way as to clearly indicate I was engaged in the conversation.
You may be able to shame a teenager for looking at a cell phone screen, but I am here to tell you it does not work on a 47-year-old woman. Especially when the woman cooked the supper on the table and would be doing the dishes in short order. I would never use my cellphone during a meal in public or with “company,” but in my own home? on my own time? My cave, my rules.
The gist of what R. said was that she wanted me to quit using the BlackBerry to communicate with people because she was being excluded. And I said, “No.”
Now, in all fairness, I also added that I was not neglecting her, proving that fact by repeating everything she’d said during the course of the meal. I also reminded her that I am who I am. I multi-task, very well. She knows that and in theory she knows me and this far into our friendship, don’t go trying to change me.
What I didn’t say was, don’t make me choose, because you may not like the outcome. If pressed, I will get up from the table, walk into the other room, do my thing and come back. It’ll make for more athletic meals than I enjoy, but I will do it.
I gave up my home for this woman. I gave up my then-business. I’ve compromised my personal freedom. Every one voluntarily, so I’m not bitching about that. But I won’t give up my friends, especially those from the Little Town, many of whom I’ve known my whole life. Not for her or anybody else.
Right now, the only way those people who are important to me can be a daily part of my life is over the Internet and via cell phone. To her credit, she realized quickly she had gone too far and the remainder of the evening was quiet. Tense, but quiet.
She has chosen to live as an isolated recluse, and by default I live that way to a large extent, but I have friends, good ones. If ever there was an “old woman, don’t go there” moment, we just had it.