Monday, February 28, 2011
Having dinner with friends, today I feel like saying no words. I consume my plate, quickly. I get up, dispose of plate. I walk back, put on my coat,
"I'm outta here guys."
"So soon?" They all inquire, words and glances.
"Yea. See you all later."
My back collects inquisitive glances. This is perfect. I selfishly get what I want. I get the feeling of human contact with expending next to no effort, besides the energy it takes to utter sentences like:
"I have a lot of work to do."
"Crazy weekend." (including eyebrow pump)
I want that to be "my thing" I think. Let me illustrate a perfect scene:
Pencil Lebowitz is languidly traversing the path that eventually empties into the mouth of Collegetown; Hollister Hall on the left, and the ancient, imposing Myron Taylor Law School on the right. From behind shuffles a passerby.
"Hi Sarah. No offense, but I would prefer to walk this path alone. I know that common courtesy dictates that we walk the next 3 minutes or so in a kind of simulated conversation, each of us racking our brains about things to come up with, things to ask each other. However, today I choose not to. I will stop in 2 seconds and allow you to walk ahead of me and we will both continue at our own chosen speeds, mine will be selected first and foremost with the intention of not surpassing you. Good day."
I stop, that is if the effort it takes and the social degradation that I experience is less than the effort it would take to conjure up an artificial conversation.
This has the potential to ruin relationships, but I'll let you know what I discover.
I apologize to any and all parties injured by the preceding prose. I AM AN ARTIST. I AM FULLY INCAPABLE OF CONSIDERING THE OPINIONS AND FEELINGS OF OTHERS. MOST OF THE TIME. NO, OK SOME OF THE TIME.