Saturday, May 12, 2007


A couple Fridays ago a small group of us library geeks went to the Heights after work for cheap happy hour beers. Though I've known at least some of these people for years, or rather have known of them, this was only the second time that I had gone out with them socially. The first time, oddly enough, was that horrible Friday back in January when I was so unceremoniously dumped over the phone. This time, needless to say, was much better.

Which brings me, sort of, to what I was wanting to write about, something that occurred to me during this evening out. We were talking about traveling, and I mentioned that we'd gone to Alaska for New Years Eve a while back, and this, as always, got a big laugh and we discussed the weather in Fairbanks in January and alcoholism rates in the great AK and skewed daylight hours and then we moved on. But what struck me as odd was my use of the word "we." Clearly in this paragraph the "we" refers to me and the other library geeks. And clearly in my head the "we" of the Alaska trip refers to me and Chris. But these people with whom I was sharing this story do not know Chris at all, do not in fact even know of Chris at all. And so I was worried that this "we" had come off as strange, as pretentious even, perhaps a weird royal sort of we. I do also realize that they probably didn't even notice, and that I have been obsessing over a small thing.

But that's the thing. In my head, in my soul, how do I begin to separate myself from this shared history? I can't go around saying "we" forever, when half of this "we" so completely extricated himself from me. And yet I am finding it very difficult to extricate myself from this shared history. Neither "I" nor "we" feels entirely honest to me at this point, though I suppose it's a good thing to be aware of this feeling of disconnect, and to be slowly moving across the spectrum towards the singular and away from the plural.

Or maybe this is all just a sign that I shouldn't talk about myself so damned much.


Myster said...

Or just turn yourself around, head back to the Heights and try it with margaritas this time. That's my annual August-in-NYC outing with CPHolly. (It also involves a soy cheese burrito.)

Anonymous said...

I've been there. it may seem like an impossible task now but time will work its charm and a few years down the line you'll remember the feeling, will remember how intense and painful it all was, but you'll be remembering with your head, not your heart. The intensity, the pain will be gone. The memories stay a bit longer, but even that will start to fade at some point.

You just gotta keep doing what you're doing. You're doing good and well :)