The Grey Area in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

I still haven’t even prepared my remarks for the funeral on Saturday, but I know myself well enough as a public speaker to know that something will come to me the moment I begin the journey to the podium. I just really hope that I don’t say something inappropriate, which is highly possible. I’m usually pretty good at filtering out the things that are too extreme for mixed company, but when I’m emotionally taxed, as I am right now, I can sometimes mischaracterize things in my head. Everyone has a labeling system they use as a sense-making device. I took a test in college that told me that supposedly my sense-making abilities are more cognitively complex than the average individual and that it means that I don’t have a binary category system of opposites such as good/bad, appropriate/inappropriate, but rather a continuum with labels that create different types of moral judgments in my mind.

I think what that means is that I’m a gray area.

During my time in the trenches, I cut-off all contact with everyone and when I finally resurfaced, my friend in the group of straight guys seemed legitimately worried. I deleted him off all of my social media, I deleted his number and I blocked him from texting me. I was feeling like I was making the wrong choice by becoming so heavily involved with a group of straight guys, especially given my history with straight men. But when I was with a group of gay people, it was all backbiting and gossip and no true brotherhood. I mean, these are people I’ve known for more than ten years and there’s absolutely no change about them since we were all 19-21. We’re in our thirties now, there should be some measure of growth, even if that growth isn’t necessarily what we envisioned.

I’m not used to having friends.

That was evidenced by the fact that I got really suspicious when one of my coworkers invited me to go in on a cabin with a group of people. Three days away in Tahoe, just nature, booze and friends. My instant reaction was, “Why was I invited?” I don’t ever get invited anywhere so it was kind of shocking. Even my straight friends don’t invite me, we just happen to run into each other but there’s never been any initiative.

I suppose I’m falling back on that old saying “I wouldn’t belong to any group that would have me as a member.”

Then my thoughts went to, what am I going to do in a cabin for three days in the woods? I mean, sure I’ll imbibe from time to time, but everyone else is talking about how they’ll be drunk and high for three days straight, and that’s just not me. I don’t function like that anymore. I mean, I only drink when I go out. I have an unopened bottle of Tanqueray that has been sitting in my fridge since my birthday because I just don’t drink alone… Not wine, not vodka, not beer, nothing.

In reality, the only reason I drink is to relieve social anxiety. But I don’t need it for three days straight. I was thinking I’ll bring my camera and go out and take pictures in the woods. I’ve taken so few pictures since I bought that ridiculously expensive toy and I’m rarely in nature so it would be the ideal opportunity to go out there. I could bring a book or two and read.

They’re all excited that the cabin has two game rooms, but I couldn’t care less. I think I just want to spend time decompressing from all the depression of the last month. Plus, by that point in the month, I should know definitively whether or not I got the teaching position in France. It’ll be a good place to either celebrate or mourn, no matter the news.

I hope Tahoe is still covered in snow because I’d love for things to be black and white for once.