I wonder how many people wonder about holes in the ceiling and cracks on the floor. When they happened, or what caused them to happen. Or what about when you see a cigarette in the toilet and wonder who had the guts to smoke in the girl’s bathroom that day and why they chose that brand of cigarette, or why they even smoke at all. And even if people do think about these things, why? For what purpose? I guess I do it out of boredom. But is boredom really an excuse? I mean, really, how bored can a person get? I don’t guess it is boredom after all, probably curiosity, which can build to all sorts of lengths, and I believe it most certainly starts there. How else can you explain why I want to know what happened to a certain somebody when a certain somebody else punches her in the eye? I am almost positive it stems from curiosity and that is where and how I try to make sense of this story.
It begins on a nice hot July morning, with birds singing and flowers in full bloom; OK, not really. But how awesome would it be if it worked out that way. It really would put something beautiful into this mesh of words. Actually it really didn’t have a starting place, but rather starting people. A band. All the people in this band and all the people that surrounded this band were a part of my life for almost eight months. I don’t really understand why, but at first I did enjoy hanging out with these people. I guess maybe because they were ‘cool,’ but I mean we never really did anything cool. So basically we sat around pretending to be cool, because we were considered cool. Or maybe it was just the others that were considered cool. I really don’t know, but pretending to be cool was just not all that cool to me. I don’t understand how people can hang out with the same people day in and day out, just to belong. I did for so long, but I really can’t tell you why, It reminds me of a song. One of those songs you know all the words to but don’t know the name of it or who sings it, you know? Yeah, yeah, yeah, anyway, back to why curiosity is the cause of all things, and why it kills all. So, my uncool cool friends and I would hang out all the time. They were all great when we were alone or everyone could get along, until slowly, one by one, all of us, including myself, were becoming big meanie-heads. It was sad how easily our moods would change from blaming one person and loving another for the same reasons. One would talk trash about someone to the other, the other would tell the whole group and be loved because they told other people.
I started noticing this pattern early on but never said anything about it because, basically, I was conforming. Becoming something that I completely hate. To belong. Especially to a group of people who were so spiteful. Like a closet full of scary black wool sweaters and one white cardigan. And I guess you know who the cardigan is. (I really like the cardigans, but at the time I liked scary black wool sweaters. I don’t even own a cardigan, or a scary black wool sweater. I should go shopping.) My meanie-head friends and I would usually hang out and go to shows and just gossip about anything and everything. It got to the point where you probably shouldn’t even trust your best friend; I know I didn’t.
One day while I was visiting my father in Maryland, I called one of my ‘best’ friends. My friend, my friend in the band, the night before had played with a really good band that everyone really liked, and he was giving me all the glorious details. He told me how well his band played and how nice the famous band was. Then he told me about some people from another local band, who had said some not so favorable things about my friends, and it really made him and another band member upset. He told me that they decided that they were never going to play with the other local again. (A very girly thing to do if you ask me. I mean OK, someone doesn’t like your music, so what, you can still be polite.) But you see, that is my point, they were being too polite, way too polite, so polite that they failed to mention to the other band that they weren’t going to play anymore. I told my friend that I was sure it was just a misunderstanding and that everything would work out.
That night, ironically, one of the members of the other local band was online, so of course I said hello and asked him how he was. He told me some things were going on, but that they would straighten themselves out soon. I was assuming he was talking about the unsavory news of the infamous show my friend had told me about on the phone. Wouldn’t you have assumed so by all that had been said before? What else was I possibly supposed to think.
Seriously, I had no clue that what I was about to say would have such an affect on my life now. Sad, huh? One conversation can change your life. I wonder how many conversations concerning you but not you actually speaking can change your life. Or how many have changed my life. Nevertheless, I said it. I asked him if he meant my friend’s band, (this is how I connect curiosity if you aren’t getting the gist of the story.) I was so eager to hear what he had to say about it too. He had no clue what I was talking about, and so considering what my friend said, I distinctly remember that he put no bearing on what he said to me or who I could say it to.
So I told him everything that my friend had told me a few hours before. Sadly, the infection, the disease had taken over me, too. I had officially become part of the crew, in fact during that one conversation everything I hated about myself and any foible anyone else bestowed upon me had been poured out, through words on my computer. The guy I told this to was very upset and apologized to my friend’s band for any misunderstanding, and everything between them was fine, in fact they are still friends and still play together. As for the other band, and I, well that never happened again. They pushed me away with harsh words and tainted regrets for having told me anything, ever. I went from the loved to the hated in a matter of a fifteen-minute conversation. And quite frankly I was so upset that I really didn’t care to speak to any of them again; the only problem: my boyfriend was in the band. I decided not to do anything mean (wow, I really had become a bad person if I had to decide not to be mean), and I left. I never said anything to the band or the surrounding ‘friends’ again.
So maybe my story was pointless and you don’t understand why I think curiosity is the cause of all things and why it kills all, but it killed my friendships, it killed my personality, it killed my life. If you don’t get it, or you don’t care, take this with you:
Jetlag – A group of mental and physical symptoms as in fatigue and irritability as in following rapid travel through several time zones.