Start Spreading The Word. That's what the invitation said. Start Spreading The Word. I pressed my eyes against the thick cardboard invitation and flipped it over. Dave's 21st, theme: Gangsters and Flappers. I dropped it on my bed and thought for a second. Ok so a translation of this would read an explosion of old private school kids crammped together in a marquee frosted tennis court. It would also read me coming into contact with a lot of people from school who I desperately avoided at all possible costs. They had such an effect on me, that even if I scrolled to their page on facebook it was enough to make me nauseous.
I'll be honest, part of the reason why I vanished from their weekend parties was the revelation of how sad it all was. Trust me, I'm not about to stand on a soap box with an outstretched arm commanding I was the only one to see the 'truth.' Instead I just quietly came to the conclusion that I didn't have to put up with the feeling of not enjoying yourself or the people around you. It's funny thinking that such a thought took so long to 'come to mind'. And the effect of such a revelation? Well I started doing things that I actually liked for a change, instead of just going along with others.
So, of course with all this swirling about in my mind- I was questioning whether I should 'start spreading the news.' On top of this- my departure with this school day scene when I started university meant I came into a clash with some school friends. It all happened suddenly- after a cut of communication I received in a space of about 10 min six abusive text messages regarding things I had said about someone a couple of years ago. The whole thing was rather magnificent in it's orchestration actually. Forget propaganda ministers, teenage girls with vendettas are like Goebbels on steroids.
Within a weekend, one girl had formed a battalion of six heavy Oestrogen hitters. The months following I became the subject of their analysis. I was constantly hearing back their
evaluation on my life. It's rather crude isn't it, that we believe we have the right to assess someone else's choices. In the end we're all as helpless as one another. Eventually, it fell to pieces and they found someone else to gauge.
I wondered, did I want to let myself wander in such a jungle? Weeks passed but with a slab of dutch courage I stepped through the doorway last night.
I'll be honest, part of the reason why I vanished from their weekend parties was the revelation of how sad it all was. Trust me, I'm not about to stand on a soap box with an outstretched arm commanding I was the only one to see the 'truth.' Instead I just quietly came to the conclusion that I didn't have to put up with the feeling of not enjoying yourself or the people around you. It's funny thinking that such a thought took so long to 'come to mind'. And the effect of such a revelation? Well I started doing things that I actually liked for a change, instead of just going along with others.
So, of course with all this swirling about in my mind- I was questioning whether I should 'start spreading the news.' On top of this- my departure with this school day scene when I started university meant I came into a clash with some school friends. It all happened suddenly- after a cut of communication I received in a space of about 10 min six abusive text messages regarding things I had said about someone a couple of years ago. The whole thing was rather magnificent in it's orchestration actually. Forget propaganda ministers, teenage girls with vendettas are like Goebbels on steroids.
Within a weekend, one girl had formed a battalion of six heavy Oestrogen hitters. The months following I became the subject of their analysis. I was constantly hearing back their
evaluation on my life. It's rather crude isn't it, that we believe we have the right to assess someone else's choices. In the end we're all as helpless as one another. Eventually, it fell to pieces and they found someone else to gauge.
I wondered, did I want to let myself wander in such a jungle? Weeks passed but with a slab of dutch courage I stepped through the doorway last night.
The night in point form:
-I sucked my pride - and dislike of them as people- and went for the smile and nice show. It wasn't too hard actually. Once you get over them as a person and just, well , let them be themselves without thinking how shallow they are, you sort of enjoy yourself. Everything becomes all about the surface but in an easy and perhaps even honest way.
-Reading what I just wrote- I guess I behaved before last night - in a manner exactly the same way as theirs. I mean really- who am I to look down on their french manicures and terrifyingly high pitched voice ways. It's annoying to be that person drunk on their own moral regardless of what you're judging.
-Once this was under way, I became the prodigal son of the group. No sooner was I chatting to them while they puffed away at their menthol cigarettes, to then being trust into the inner sanctium of being asked to come to the toilet with them. I leaned against the towel rack trying to not seem uncomfortable while my companion sat on the toilet seat - her stockings and underwear around her ankles - chatting in a voice which reminded me of a disney animal character. Yes it was rather surreal, it had been three years of bitter tension and now within a space of 45 mins I was in bathroom with her, watching her go to the toilet. Intimacy it seems, is not dependent on time.
Indeed I realised my ability to bullshit has not left me- despite private fears. The night proved it to be well in tact. I am a conversationalist on all topics, be them; boyfriends I've never met, families of boyfriend's I've never met, the dilemmas of facebook chat, whether lady gaga is a man, boyfriend's best friend's I've never met, boyfriend's best girl friends I've met, Rihanna's tattoos, Thailand, what to wear to Nick's fancy dress party, what's considered a slutty costume for a fancy dress party, what's considered slutty but classy slutty for a costume at a fancy dress party, whether that girl over there -finger pointed- has too much bronzer on, followed by- 'Do I have enough bronzer on?' And 'If not could I put some more bronzer on me.' Yes the topics were endless, but I navigated myself through deep waters which occupied their minds.
The night proved to be less strenuous than I expected. Perhaps a little more enjoyable. But certainly the crowd was everything to the last detail that I remembered.
Already I've had text messages of invitations to coffee/lunch next
week. Statements like "it's so good to have the old Frankie back,'' are a little worrying. I've arrived at a point I didn't expect. If I decline and allow the situation to fester back to what it was, it will be an unwelcome end. However if I continue to actively coffee/lunch/powerwalk them I'm putting myself back in the past that is equally unwelcome.
-I sucked my pride - and dislike of them as people- and went for the smile and nice show. It wasn't too hard actually. Once you get over them as a person and just, well , let them be themselves without thinking how shallow they are, you sort of enjoy yourself. Everything becomes all about the surface but in an easy and perhaps even honest way.
-Reading what I just wrote- I guess I behaved before last night - in a manner exactly the same way as theirs. I mean really- who am I to look down on their french manicures and terrifyingly high pitched voice ways. It's annoying to be that person drunk on their own moral regardless of what you're judging.
-Once this was under way, I became the prodigal son of the group. No sooner was I chatting to them while they puffed away at their menthol cigarettes, to then being trust into the inner sanctium of being asked to come to the toilet with them. I leaned against the towel rack trying to not seem uncomfortable while my companion sat on the toilet seat - her stockings and underwear around her ankles - chatting in a voice which reminded me of a disney animal character. Yes it was rather surreal, it had been three years of bitter tension and now within a space of 45 mins I was in bathroom with her, watching her go to the toilet. Intimacy it seems, is not dependent on time.
Indeed I realised my ability to bullshit has not left me- despite private fears. The night proved it to be well in tact. I am a conversationalist on all topics, be them; boyfriends I've never met, families of boyfriend's I've never met, the dilemmas of facebook chat, whether lady gaga is a man, boyfriend's best friend's I've never met, boyfriend's best girl friends I've met, Rihanna's tattoos, Thailand, what to wear to Nick's fancy dress party, what's considered a slutty costume for a fancy dress party, what's considered slutty but classy slutty for a costume at a fancy dress party, whether that girl over there -finger pointed- has too much bronzer on, followed by- 'Do I have enough bronzer on?' And 'If not could I put some more bronzer on me.' Yes the topics were endless, but I navigated myself through deep waters which occupied their minds.
The night proved to be less strenuous than I expected. Perhaps a little more enjoyable. But certainly the crowd was everything to the last detail that I remembered.
Already I've had text messages of invitations to coffee/lunch next
week. Statements like "it's so good to have the old Frankie back,'' are a little worrying. I've arrived at a point I didn't expect. If I decline and allow the situation to fester back to what it was, it will be an unwelcome end. However if I continue to actively coffee/lunch/powerwalk them I'm putting myself back in the past that is equally unwelcome.
At the end of the day, it's just easier not to have enemies, but how far are you suppose to go to achieve this?
Till next time,
xxxF
Till next time,
xxxF
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