Friendship
Nov. 27th, 2012 10:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraFriendship is maybe more important to me than it is to most people. I think that's because I grew up in such a dysfunctional family. Friendship touches on the whole issue of Family of Choice, which is one I think a lot about these days.
Of course, the thing about families that makes them families besides the DNA is the years and decades of shared experiences.
You can't have that with friends you make at my age. I mean, c'mon – in 20 years, likely I'll be dead.
Nonetheless, sweet little moment for me over dinner last night when Allan and I solemnly agreed, Yes, I consider you a friend.
###
Later that evening, I had a long phone conversation with a dear friend who isn't doing well. The intensity of my affection for him can be gauged by the fact that I talked to him at all over the phone. I hate talking to people over the phone.
I talk to my kids on the phone because – well. They're my kids.
I talk to my sister over the phone because – well. She is my sister.
I used to talk to Abe on the phone because he was a fascinating conversationalist in every medium.
And Lucius and I used to watch reality TV shows over the phone together, Survivor and America's Next Top Model because, you know – as rich and wonderful as those shows are, they're even richer and more wonderful with annotated snark.
Other people on the phone?
Ick.
This particular friend is very dear to me, but was also quite inebriated, which made conversation problematic. He had lucid moments, and then he had not quite so lucid moments. The not quite so lucid moment involved large numbers of ladybugs -- no, really.
This particular friend, in fact, reminds me of my very first father-in-law.
"You are an alcoholic," I once ranted at Al.
Al pulled himself up to his full height – still shorter than me – and shot me an outraged glare. "How dare you," he said. "I am not an alcoholic. I'm a drunk!" Then he threw back his head and chortled.
(You might not guess it from this interaction, but I was very fond of Al.)
Of course it's central to my personal philosophy that I never criticize people for those kinds of life choices. I mean – so long as they don't drive or operate heavy equipment. I've known plenty of fully functional smack heads in my time.
I can't help thinking, though, that substance abuse is all about analgesia. Yea, yeah, there's the physical addiction component. That takes over after a while, often a very short while. But the beginning, it seems to me, is always about trying to find a way to dissociate from the pain.
This particular friend has a really gallant soul. Think Cyrano de Bergerac. Like Cyrano, he also writes like an angel.
What role can Cyrano play in the 21st century?
There's really nothing I can do to help him escape from his pain. Nada. Friendship is just not a strong enough rope.
Of course, the thing about families that makes them families besides the DNA is the years and decades of shared experiences.
You can't have that with friends you make at my age. I mean, c'mon – in 20 years, likely I'll be dead.
Nonetheless, sweet little moment for me over dinner last night when Allan and I solemnly agreed, Yes, I consider you a friend.
Later that evening, I had a long phone conversation with a dear friend who isn't doing well. The intensity of my affection for him can be gauged by the fact that I talked to him at all over the phone. I hate talking to people over the phone.
I talk to my kids on the phone because – well. They're my kids.
I talk to my sister over the phone because – well. She is my sister.
I used to talk to Abe on the phone because he was a fascinating conversationalist in every medium.
And Lucius and I used to watch reality TV shows over the phone together, Survivor and America's Next Top Model because, you know – as rich and wonderful as those shows are, they're even richer and more wonderful with annotated snark.
Other people on the phone?
Ick.
This particular friend is very dear to me, but was also quite inebriated, which made conversation problematic. He had lucid moments, and then he had not quite so lucid moments. The not quite so lucid moment involved large numbers of ladybugs -- no, really.
This particular friend, in fact, reminds me of my very first father-in-law.
"You are an alcoholic," I once ranted at Al.
Al pulled himself up to his full height – still shorter than me – and shot me an outraged glare. "How dare you," he said. "I am not an alcoholic. I'm a drunk!" Then he threw back his head and chortled.
(You might not guess it from this interaction, but I was very fond of Al.)
Of course it's central to my personal philosophy that I never criticize people for those kinds of life choices. I mean – so long as they don't drive or operate heavy equipment. I've known plenty of fully functional smack heads in my time.
I can't help thinking, though, that substance abuse is all about analgesia. Yea, yeah, there's the physical addiction component. That takes over after a while, often a very short while. But the beginning, it seems to me, is always about trying to find a way to dissociate from the pain.
This particular friend has a really gallant soul. Think Cyrano de Bergerac. Like Cyrano, he also writes like an angel.
What role can Cyrano play in the 21st century?
There's really nothing I can do to help him escape from his pain. Nada. Friendship is just not a strong enough rope.
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no subject
Date: 2012-11-29 12:31 pm (UTC)When you care about someone, though...
Well, then you have to wonder why they feel the need to do it. And feel sad and worried about them.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-29 01:25 pm (UTC)One theory I heard with regards to g. and his drinking is that it is how he self-medicates his OCD. I don't know when he started, he says he *always* did.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-29 01:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-29 01:40 pm (UTC)