be my friend!

When I was 12 I decided that killing myself for someone's friendship when that person wasn't even inclined to like me in the first place was not only profanely asinine, it was also obscenely demeaning to myself. Who would I be kidding? They only liked me if I did things they liked. It was retarded. I wasn't going to play a part of that.

So for the most of middle school (some folks call it junior high; it was grades 6-8) I was a total reject. The trend started to buck in high school when you got 'cool points' (or something) for being original, but then we moved from the South to the West and I started over being on the outside again.

I didn't give a rat. Never have, never will.

But that was kids at school. That was a bunch of whining entitled brats who thought they'd feel better about themselves if surrounded by others who wanted their friendship. I'm sure, on a subconscious level of course, that when you are the object of another's desire (even if platonic) the message is sent that you have worth. It's not a bad gig, and I don't hold any particular malice (or do I?) towards those who denied me their friendship.

But I do have a struggle with my mission companions and those I served. I desperately want their friendship. I loved my mission. It meant so much to me; I poured my heart and soul into it. When I came back, I really expected a party of closely knit good friends waiting for me. I should have seen the writing on the wall, though... Most of the Elders I served with had already paired themselves up with BFF's to attend the other blue University in this state. I wasn't going there. (Huge can o' worms there...) As such, I was on the outside. As such, I didn't think anyone really wanted my friendship and ended up hurting a few of the ones who did because I didn't go to any great lengths to contact anyone immediately upon my return. (I apologized for to the ones I hurt, and meant it. I feel they've forgiven me. At least I hope they have.)

But where does that leave me now?

I have tried to contact a few of the people I served with. I was hoping for a more natural friendship, but I suppose the transition from the world of white shirts and ties to flip flops and goatees is a taller hurdle for some than it is for others. I've tried looking up and calling a few of the guys I thought I was close to. If we were to take the litmus test of enthusiasm, I was dead wrong about how close I was to them.

That kind of hurts. I mean, I can't push my expectations of friendship on someone else, and I'm definitely not going to be the gimpy nerdy kid who begs others for their friendship. I'm also not going to have any false pretenses about my likability. I'm somewhat comfortable with the fact that I annoy the poop out of scores of personality types and the people who fit them. It's not easy, because I like it when people like me (who wouldn't?!) and I am a fierce and loyal friend when the fraternity and love is reciprocated. I understand that naturally I'll get along with some better than others as interests and personalities align, but for the most part I make no man my enemy. (FMH, on the other hand...)

I realize this is long-winded, but it's been a long time coming. I have mixed feelings of anger and pain when I think of my mission, as well as the deluge of joy and love. It's hard to categorize; I guess what I'm trying to get at is that I miss the friendship and wish that I could have carried that with me back home. It's a real shame I missed that boat.

(As an end note, there is one Elder I never served with directly but went on exchanges with that has kept very good contact with me and I can't even begin to describe my gratitude for that. He is an upstanding man and priesthood holder; he has my utmost respect and loyalty. I thank him.)

A bit much

Lately I've been either gossiping about family or blabbing (read: whining) about France. I can't do that anymore. I think I'm boring my friends, though they have the grace not to say so. I'll find some other outlet or just plain ~gasp~ deal with it.

At any rate, I did have my HR interview with Alten. The lady was nice, but spoke extremely quick; a malady most French women suffer from. I had to ask her to repeat herself, but I guess that sounds better than answering a question she didn't ask. The questions were your normal HR questions, but it only took like 10 minutes. I'm wondering why she didn't just email them to me. I wonder if she wanted to hear my French. Oh well. You've got to chase your dreams otherwise you might end up getting your nightmares.

aucun objet

When I was little, my mother made it a point to put her immensely talented fingers to work for our benefit. Each of my siblings and I were the recipient of a quilt tailored to our personalities. Each quilt had squares that reflected the untapped talent of our child selves. Mine had navy blue squares checkered with big ABCs and 123s. My mother somehow acutely guessed I’d be some kind of nerd—as if the Construx robot army I whipped up for her to complete her household chores wasn’t a tip off in and of itself.

These blankets were our bread and butter as children. There were 5 of us, and on rainy days and Sunday afternoons our pastime was to build tents using all the chairs in the house, the extra comforters, and of course, our blankets. We must’ve looked like tribal chiefs summoned for a council as we waved our colors. When it was naptime in the afternoons during the summer, I liked to curl up with my blanket. If I couldn’t find it, I couldn’t sleep. Other blankets composed of entirely the same material were somehow too rough and uninviting. By all reports, I’ve grown out of it. However, after Mrs. Sixline and I launder our sheets and blankets, when I lay down to sleep I can still see and touch that old blanket of mine.

Even though I’m too old for security blankets, there are still some things that I can cling to and sleep soundly through the scariest of rainstorms. A child’s psyche is so illogical—as if thick layers of cotton, wool, and fleece can stop the fiercest creature.

And yet, their power is real. They’re something familiar, something tangible, something warm.

Tonight Mrs. Sixline and I had to fold up a security blanket and store it for another time. It’s gone, but not for good. It’s just put away for now.

We love you, Fozzie, Kermit, Scooter, Animal, and Gonzo. You brought us comfort and made us safe. We hope you know just how much warmth you are responsible for in our lives.

Old friends

So I got to talking to an old friend and realized that some people I've known for onwards of ten years.

My brother in law, Joe. He's the friend I've had the longest. I (obviously) keep in good contact with him very often seeing as how our wives are sisters. (That's a post for another day.) I met him back in Texas in... Golly, 1994? 1993? 14 years ago. I have other friends from Texas I've known that long but don't keep the greatest contact with... I'm a bit ashamed of that. Good friends are hard to come by.

Then there's the 'internet' friends who have been just as good of friends despite the distance. There was awhile when we all fell out of contact, but now that we are all on Google Talk, it's like we never skipped a beat. Wow. Those guys, all the 1994-1995 time as well. 12-13 years I've known them. Their links are over there on the right. For you lazy folk, they're Paulistano & SilverChic (married), Chancelot, and Peter.

These people I've known for 12-13 years. That's half my age. Wow.

Good friends are hard to come by. I can't say that enough. Treasure them. I have some very good ones now, people I've recently met, and I hope to be able to say the same things about them in 12-13 years.