Oh, goody goody - my UFC fights are on tonight! But it does raise an issue. Allow me to share in the most long-winded manner I can manage. It is my way...
I grew up in a manner that was certainly some form of anti-social. I don't hate people (necessarily), but it was a long time before I learned what a good friend was. I thought I knew at the time, but I was tragically mistaken. Therefore, I kept company that was neither truly fun to be around, nor had my best interests at heart.
This background has resulted in a system of socializing and a view of relationships that could generously be called "quirky." I developed a stunted and odd view of how friendships work, and to this day it confuses me and those around me.
For one thing, I largely equate friendships and social events with drinking. This seems an obvious result of the fact that during my teen years, my acquaintances and I would rarely get together without getting some form of good and loaded, and when we did, the event was considered a failure without exception. Therefore, getting together nowadays without a drink in my hand seems unnatural. What the Hell do people
do with themselves? Psh -
talk?! You must be kidding. It's awkward, and makes my slightly nervous. It's like smoking after a meal, or peanut butter with jelly - one without the other is all right and everything, but certainly not ideal. I don't necessarily enjoy this condition, I just recognize it.
Another unusual trait is that I don't get lonely, at least in what I understand to be a traditional sense. I've never understood why solitary confinement is such a feared punishment in prison movies and other tales of hardship. I think that Tom Hanks in "Cast Away" was just as well off with his artificial friend Wilson as with just about everyone else in that film. By and large, Sartre had it right - Hell is other people.
Only in recent years has this stoic psychological dam begun to show signs of cracking. Having made what I still consider the right decision to move away from my hometown and acquaintances (as well as most of my wife's friends and family as well), it becomes more practically apparent how isolated we are, geographically as well as socially. My wife isn't as bizarre and fundamentally insane as I am, and I worry that she should be happier with more friends in her life, too.
In any event, this is brought to the fore by the fact that I would really like to invite a buddy over tonight to watch pairs of top-conditioned men beat the Hell out of each other, but the list of potential co-viewers is damned slim. Michelle and I have taken a sloppy slap or two at putting down roots and making friends in our new hometown, but the roots are few and shallow in the soil.
In any event, it's likely too late to invite anyone over, and the festivities are on a weeknight, confusing most peoples' schedules (nice going, UFC President Dana White!). Still, I could make a couple of phone calls, take a shot at it. The fact that I let a few logistical wrinkles stop me from trying just leads me to consider the above personality traits regarding my views on friendship.
What an odd life. Not bad, but odd.
