Clareified

Where does the good go

The only ship that’s worth a damn

F-train made fun of me the other day when I sent him this lengthy text about how I was soooo hot. He mocked me because I then went on to explain that by “soooo hot,” I meant that I had turned the AC off before I left for work and, with all the windows being closed, my apartment was a sauna. I concluded with “so I mean temperature wise, I didn’t want you to think I was conceited. Not that I’m not conceited, but just in this instance, I meant temperature wise.”

He responded “so what I’ve learned about you, is that you’d rather be thought long-winded and boring than conceited. Mission accomplished.”

Assface. I cannot wait until my friendship with him ends in 2012.

But, yes, I confess, I want to be understood. I will use as many words, clauses, parenthetical statements, texts, tweets, blogs or facebook statuses as it takes so that my position is perfectly clear. I don’t think of myself as particularly complicated or mysterious. I do what I say I will, I am predictable almost to the letter and I cling to routine like a toddler to its favorite stuffed toy. And yet…

I haven’t given this post very much thought. I was supposed to have a guest poetry blogger today, but *ahem* I don’t, so I’m stepping up in a pinch. I say that because I’m sure there might be unpleasant fallout from this post. That often comes when I write these kind of pieces without exactly naming names, but certain parties make certain assumptions… and heck, those assumptions are usually right. And everytime I get that fallout, I scowl and decide, “fine, I’m not writing anything like that again,” but then something new happens and, well…out it all tumbles.

But usually, I try to wrestle with my language for a few days before I hit publish, with this, I have maybe an hour before Poetry Wednesday is properly Thursday. Ish.

So, here goes, advance apologies to anyone hurt or further angered, with the understanding I can’t control anyone else’s reaction to what I write. I can only be as fair as I can to my own sense of truthiness.

But F-train is an assface. I stand by that.

My friend Pi sent me this poem, with the subject line “This made me think of you”

A Poison Tree
by William Blake

I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole.
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

I jokingly wrote her back “Why would this remind you of me? Stupidface. Have an apple.”

But in reality, dude, this poem should be called an Ode to Dawn Summers. In the last ten years or so that I’ve had friendships that needed active participation to maintain cause I wasn’t just hanging out with the people I see in class or at camp everyday, I’ve learned certain things about myself.

I loathe confrontation. Yet, my capacity to harbor resentment knows no bounds. Delightful. I know.

However, with my friends, I’ve discovered handy ways to express my disappointment/disapproval/anger/hurt/annoyance that both avoids proper confrontation “screaming or tantrum throwing and like” but clears the air and allows me to let go of the unpleasantness. So, I’ll make jokes about how awesome it was not to be invited to their wedding or leave clever lines in posts about how I don’t care that you said you’d write the Poetry Wednesday guest post and then flaked without a word.

My friends are smart and decent, they take the hints. They apologize in fun ways and make it up to me with lots of comments and retweetage, and we move on.

But sometimes there comes a point where I’m making these jokes too often and far too many posts are loosely based on the fucked up things a certain person or persons have done. I start to delete them. My kidding around is replaced by silence. The resentment grows. Plans for revenge crystallize. I actively start to wish them ill. I feel bad, overcompensate with some nice deed, but then that niceness is taken for granted or not appreciated enough and we’re back to resentment.

This eventually goes one of two ways, they end up doing something marginally bad, but I explode in unmitigated rage as if they had smeared feces on my walls! They apologize; but it won’t matter, that’s not really what I was mad about in the first place and I don’t care enough to talk it through anymore. From their standpoint, I’m being unreasonable. They apologized, after all, why couldn’t I just accept it. Woe be to them if they express this to me verbally. How dare they tell me how to react to their apology for the bad thing they did?! HOW DARE THEY!

The other route? Cutting of all communication.

But, in the end, I think that’s the point of the poem. You either speak your mind, tell your wrath or know that you are well on the way to growing an enemy. For me, I also take this to mean that if friends have suddenly become silent with me, overreacting, in my mind, to small offenses, something else is wrong.

I grow weary.

Then wary.

I avoid their apple trees.

Well, who am I kidding, I avoid all apple trees, you know what I mean…I’d avoid their cupcakes. Unless they were vanilla/vanilla and delicious.

Damn you sweet tooth! Daammnnn yoouu!

19 Responses to “The only ship that’s worth a damn”

  1. Charles Star Says:

    Everyone is afraid to comment on this post. Not me!

    Comment count: 1

  2. Dawn Summers Says:

    Let’s go with the retweeting. :)

  3. Pi Says:

    I can’t believe you deleted my medusa comment on the other blog. Boo. Have some apple pie.

  4. Dawn Summers Says:

    I did no such thing. Maybe it’s being held for moderation. Unless your name is K*r*l, if your sentence contains the words “deleted my comment,” there has been a misunderstanding.

  5. Dawn Summers Says:

    Silly, Pironis, you commented that on the first post, not the top post. You sure you were looking in the right place for it? #noshade

  6. Pearatty Says:

    I like this poem and it would have made me think of you too if I’d ever read it before. Although you seem to get a lesson from it, methinks this line:

    In the morning glad I see,
    My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

    Means that the author isn’t feeling too bad about his wrath. It’s kind of a guilty pleasure poem.

  7. Pearatty Says:

    My friends are smart and decent

    Aw, shucks.

  8. Pi Says:

    ok, I see what happened now. Thought you had gone all sensitive about the mice. You can feed the apple pie to them instead.

  9. F-Train Says:

    What I’ve learned from this, is that if you ever stop calling me an assface (to my face), I’d better hope the fallout shelter is ready in my backyard.

  10. Dawn Summers Says:

    Well, duh. Who isnt glad when their enemy is found dead?

  11. Charles Star Says:

    Done and done.

  12. Dawn Summers Says:

    Excellent. Nice doing business with you, Sir.

  13. Pdov Says:

    Um, wait…um you haven’t mentioned me in a while. Um, should I be worried…are you still my friendster?!? #selfinvolved

  14. Dawn Summers Says:

    Yeah…umm… #awkward. #justkidding

  15. F-Train Says:

    Just to be sure, I re-checked my recent texts with you to make sure I didn’t agree to write a Poetry Wednesday post. And I did not. Whew! #offthehook

  16. Rick Blaine Says:

    Is this about me smearing feces on your walls?

  17. Dawn summers Says:

    @ftrain lol do you not follow ugarles on twitter?

  18. F-Train Says:

    I do but who can keep up with him? He twitters almost as much as you do! Somebody should get that guy a blog.

  19. Charles Star Says:

    I rarely have more than 140 characters to say about a subject. See, e.g., this.

Leave a Reply