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epitome of incomprehensibility
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It sounds weird to say I don't know how to communicate with someone I've known for years, but it was true a few days ago. I was worried what was wrong with her, because it wasn't like her to miss two things we'd planned, saying she wasn't feeling well. If she didn't want to, she'd just say she didn't want to. Or would she? But I thought it was a health thing.
Dad's dad_wisdom was something that should have been obvious: "Just ask her. You can say, 'If you don't mind letting me know...'"
I protested, "Ugh! But I can't just ASK!"
After some thought, I did, remembering she prefers directness to obfuscation.
And it's nothing deadly, but still distressing: fatigue as the aftereffect of infection.
She said she was tired at the end of our conversation - this was before Christmas and me getting a mild but still annoying cold - and I realized we HAD talked a lot, almost for an hour. So I wouldn't blab more, I would go, but first: "Would it be okay if I came over to visit sometime in the holidays?"
"Yeah, but I'm not sure what day works yet. I'll text you."
"Would it be annoying if I also texted you to check?"
She laughs. "No, it wouldn't be annoying."
"I just wanted to make sure. So we'll see about later!"
This is what I want out of social life: some conversation and connection, talking to people with at least a little mutual understanding or inspiration.
But I am more social this winter than the last, David's absence notwithstanding. E.g. I'm going to a low-key New Year's party with some poetry acquaintances. Which reminds me: my cousin's coming over soon, so I should clear the table.
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