5/21/2012 DAY 42
How do I make everyone I have ever known afraid that I will mortally hurt them if they ever again respond “I’ve been so cah-raaayzee busy,” whenever I casually ask them how they are doing? Oh, I know: I’ll write this daily blog and send them the link and post it on their Facebook wall–with a computer virus. Nobody’s so crazy busy as to miss their daily Facebook time. Maybe I should just stab the very next person who says it? It’ll get around.
Look, I get it: You tweet, you Facebook, you Google and you pin on your boards. And your friends and clients, your boss and your co-workers constantly email and text you 24 hours a day. You also work harder for the wages that you made ten years ago and you are in credit card debt and your monthy bills are continuously on the rise. Your kids keep you on your toes and you don’t want to miss an appointment with your personal trainer. But you are just like everybody else so I hate when you tell me you’ve been busy when I say, “Howsit goin?” Busy is now an assumption.
And, boo-hoo: you come home and your boyfriend is in the same boat so he doesn’t ever want to hear your minute by minute blow-by-blow list of activities that you accomplished through your exhaustion, complications and adversity. You want someone, anyone, to know how hard you’ve been working. But you need to also keep it to yourself when I haven’t seen you for a long time. Think about it. I was also too busy to call you; so, obviously I have my list too. And I’m probably going to top yours because I get to go second. Think of me like your boyfriend, except that I will point out how haggard you look, the black circles under your eyes and your fast-food chins if you dare to yak that shit at me.
When someone first words are, “I have bee so busy taking care of everyone else, I hardly have time for myself,” I can actually feel the forty extra pounds of blood pressure jettisoning from my heart on the way to my brain as I begin to lose the ability to see straight because of the red sparks of rage impairing my vision. The compression in my head obliterates the part of my intellect that operates sanity and civility and I can only pray that I lose consciousness before I say, “You are just like Jesus, except he let his work do his PR for him.” You’re busy. Everyone is busy. Be it for yourself or you taking care of your friends and family events obligations. But don’t you see the visually accentuated veins in my neck? Doesn’t that scare you? Did you not see your Facebook today?!
And I know you feel guilty for not calling before we ran into each other. That’s the main reason you’ve jumped the gun a began your busy rant. Of course it was just wishful thinking when you said, “We have to do this more often,” the last time we went out and had a few beers together. But I don’t feel guilty and neither should you. We have both grown up and have different posses now and *you’re still single—and trying to get laid every weekend. (*Feel free to insert this here too: “you had kids and you’ve let yourself go, and I didn’t.”) The fact of the matter is we probably don’t have that much in common anymore and we’re not going to be that interested in hearing too much of what the other one has been up to anyway. You don’t want to hear my list and I certainly don’t want to hear yours.
As a busy society we have to collectively come up with a new kind of greeting. I guess I really don’t mean, “How are you?” when I finally run into that friend. That’s just going to get the “I’ve been sooo busy.” And then it becomes as exciting as tic-tac-toe, where it’s always ends up the same: “Okay. Bye. Call me!” as we both wave and walk away. Maybe the first person should just say, “It’s good to see you.” Then the second person is put on the spot and has to say the exact same thing. But, then again, someone has got to say, “So, what have you been doing?” Even I couldn’t just stop at, “Writing a novel.” And even when ya don’t ask, most people tell you anyway: “I’m still in real estate. But the kids are at that age…they drive me crazy…” When this happens I say, “Well, that was your choice, so…” And then they’ll say, “Well, you know, that’s why I’ve been so busy to call you…” And then I’ll stab them before they can finish their sentence which is always the same anyway lately: “In fact, I never want to call you lately because you’ve been such a dude-bitch. And that blog you’ve been posting on Facebook is just mean.”
And then I’ll tell them that they don’t know what it’s like to turn 50. And then I’ll stab them again.