DIZZY

By the way, I don't remember whether or not I already mentioned this, but the dizziness and falling over is back.

How annoying.

SNEEZING

I've started sneezing.

I think I'm getting sick.

I also think this is psychosomatic.

Why? Because I have to work tomorrow. And it's Christmas Eve. So you *know* that there's no way on God's green earth that I can call in sick tomorrow, because nobody will believe me.

Somehow my body knows this, and the realisation that I cannot, under any circumstances, be ill tomorrow, has made my body cave in to the pressure.

On the way in to work this morning, I was conscious of just how perfect my life is right now. It's really beautiful. I mean, if I were to write out everything I want in life, almost everything on that list would be things I currently have.

I live in London, and I make enough money to buy things sometimes and help my family sometimes. I stopped for a cup of coffee, and there wasn't anything I would have to sacrifice in order to have it.

I have *wonderful* friends. Really beautiful, amazing, talented, kind, and wonderful friends. I have a family who loves me, and who I love.

I'm really busy, but in a few weeks, I'll be able to take some time and go to someplace in Europe where I've never been before.

I can speak enough French not to feel self-conscious in countries where that is the native language.

And I am looking forward to having some time to work with my keyboard and editing software again.

PART OF THE REST OF THE STORY

I am really astounded.

I've just read some of the archives here.

I'm really conscious of the fact that anything I post here is in a public place, and so I have tried not to be too bad about saying unflattering things about people. But I'm surprised at how much I have left out.

Yesterday, when Sarah and I were at the pub, we were talking about being culturally sensitive. This came up, because we were talking about the relationships we had with people when we first moved to this country--Sarah is from South Africa. Anyway, she mentioned that there were these weird things she put up with from ex-boyfriends and friends/acquaintances, because she thought that they might just be cultural things.

I went through that exact same thing. It was so incredibly validating to hear someone else talk about some almost identical experiences.

When I first got here, I only really knew. The three that I knew best were Matthew, Other Sarah, and Iain.

I made myself pretty much insane trying to be culturally sensitive. The level of self-consciousness one has when moving to a new country is mind-boggling.

You go to a pub, and don't know what behavior is considered "friendly," or when it crosses the line into "whorish." Or, if you're completely silent, maybe you're considered "rude and insulting." You just don't know. So you tirelessly examine everyone else, compare your behavior to theirs, and then if anyone says anything at all that could possibly be construed as insulting, you're sure that you've destroyed everything.

So, you know, when your boyfriend flirts with every other woman in the room, you think, well, maybe that's just acceptable here. Or when one of your psychotic friends tells you that you were flirting with her husband, you think, well, in some countries, making eye contact with a man is considered "coming on to him," so maybe my behavior really was flirtatious, and I just don't know it.

Anyway, Matthew was really a jerk. I mean, seriously. I've mentioned this. There wasn't a time we went out when he didn't do something insulting, or in some way conspire to destroy any good time that I had. Even if we made it through an evening pleasantly, he'd later say, "Well, sure, I had fun with you, but I'd just as soon stay at home." That's actually a quote. I'm serious--he used to say this crap all the time. And I felt like if I praised him enough for the fleeting seconds of good behavior, then it would make him feel inclined to continue it.

I should have caught on about Sarah and Iain, because their friendship is based on bonding over making fun of people who they hate. They used to work together, and they were constantly posting online about things the coworkers they hated did. And Iain used to joke about the fact that everyone at work was afraid of Sarah. And both of them used to get into political arguments with people just so that they could prove that they were better-educated, and the other people were stupid.

But, at first, they were really nice to me.

One thing that most people know about me is that I'm a fairly generous person. This comes from being poor, and coming from a poor family. I know what it's like. And if I have something, I'll share.

If I have a car and you don't, I'll know what it was like to have to walk home after a long evening. Odds are high, I'll force you into my car even if you protest, and I'll drive you home. The extra five, ten, twenty minutes of driving for me is so little compared to the walk home for you that it's seriously stupid to me to think of arguing about it. A tiny effort on my part, *and* feeling like I've made things ever-so-slightly nicer for you, vs. you making a big effort to get home. No-brainer.

When I was in San Francisco, most of my friends were unemployed. I assumed, if I called one and asked if we could do something together, that I'd be paying. I wouldn't call if I couldn't afford to pay for both of us. The extra movie ticket or entree was just part of my spending money for the month--not the difference between being able to pay rent or not. Again, no-brainer.

It's really hard for me to accept similar things from other people, but over the last two years, I was lectured repeatedly by my closest friends about my inability to accept, so I tried to occasionally accept help that was offered. I accepted loans from Michael. And I accepted the loan of a mobile telephone from Iain, and a laptop from Sarah. I asked Iain when he needed the phone back, and he said not to worry about it--it was a backup, he had more than one backup, and he'd just let me know when he needed it back.

So when I went back to the US last summer, it was in a rush. I was really not sure from day to day what the right decision was, because I could have potentially stayed in London for another couple of months. So before I left, I waffled back and forth about leaving.

Evidently, at some point I had told Sarah that I was leaving. This becomes "important" later.

I had been sending off resumes right up until the day I left. They had the phone number to Iain's mobile on them. I was planning on continuing to send out resumes with that phone number on them (so that it wouldn't be obvious that I was in a different country), and asked Matthew if he would continue to check the voice mail on it for a while. Borrowing a phone from Iain was difficult enough, but I didn't also want to ask him to expend continuous effort on my part. Matthew, well, he was my boyfriend. If I couldn't ask him to do something like that for me, something was wrong. (Hint: there was)

I didn't want to bring the phone back to the US because, although I could still receive calls on it there, I wanted it to be in London so that when Iain needed it back, he could just get it from Matthew, instead of trying to get it back from me in the US.

I had tried to get together with both Iain and Sarah several times before I left, but both of them kept saying that they were busy. I took their word for it, because, again, I figured this stuff is all cultural yadda yadda yadda.

At some point, I asked Sarah if something was wrong, because she was acting weird. I said, "I know I've been having a really rough time with culture shock and with Matthew horribleness, and I know that because of it I've been too self-absorbed, and I'm sorry I haven't been the best friend."

Sarah got mad. She said, basically, "I am not a judgmental person. How dare you accuse me of that. You needed a friend to listen, and that's what I did." So from then on, I tried to take her word for it when she said that nothing was wrong.

So I went away for a traumatic summer, and then came back for an equally traumatic autumn and winter.

When I moved out of Peter's house, one of the reasons was that I had a new job. And, when I had been unemployed, Sarah and her husband had paid for dinner for me, twice, saying, "Look, you're unemployed, so let us pay." So when I got to my new place, and got my first paycheck, the first thing I did was call Sarah's house and ask if I could take them to dinner. (Note: the following events occurred at the same time as being given an eviction notice from my Australian roommates so that one of their sisters could move in.)

Sarah's husband, Martin, answered the telephone. Our conversation went roughly like this:

Me: Hi, Martin, it's Simone. How are you guys?

Martin: Not so good. Seamus [the cat] died.

Me: Oh, I'm *so* sorry.

Martin: Yeah, Sarah's pretty broken up about it. She's not really up to seeing people or doing things right now. I mean, most people think that a cat is just an animal, but he was like part of the family. We've had him in our lives for years.

Me: Oh, no, I totally understand. I felt the same way about my cats. Listen, I understand that you want some time alone. If you need to get out and take your mind off of things, ring me up and we'll do something. And when you're feeling ready to start doing things again, give me a call, but until then I'll just let you have some time.

I next tried calling Iain. Eventually, he contacted me and said that I only contacted people when I needed something, as evidenced by the fact that I hadn't gotten in touch with him before (I had tried when I could--you can see the archives for information on the months I spent without the ability to contact anyone), and had stolen his telephone. No, he never asked for it back. (Incidentally, after this, Iain refused to take it back. So I gave it to Matthew and asked him to deliver it to Ian. That's the last I saw of it.) Somewhere in my response to Iain, I mentioned that I wasn't sure I was leaving the country until about 48 hours before I actually did.

So I ended up sending around a note about my move. I also posted about it online where Sarah and Iain posted.

Then, I thought, well, although I've already expressed sympathy through Martin, I should at least say something here, too, about Sarah. So I wrote "P.S. Sarah, I'm so sorry to hear about Seamus."

Then, being the completely paranoid person that I had become over this culture thing, I thought, geez, what a jerk. Like the main news is about my move, and Sarah's cat is an afterthought. So I composed the following email to her[I've saved this, so it's a direct quote]:

I'm really sorry to hear about Seamus, Sarah. I'm sorry also that I
posted that with a "P.S.", because that makes it sound like an afterthought,
and I wasn't thinking when I typed it.



I can't imagine how horrible it must
be for you right now. I wish there was something I could do to make it better,
but understand that right now you probably just want to not have to do or
think about anything, and staying away is probably the best thing. So I'll
try to be considerate, but please don't take my absence as any kind of
uncaring or coldness. I am so sorry this is tough for you.

Love, --Simone

Mind you, her husband had said she was too upset to leave her house.

So I got a *really* snotty response to this.

I responded, but then she wouldn't say anything. So eventually, I posted an apology online for what I thought must be wrong--me being so wrapped up in my own pain of moving countries and being mistreated by Matthew, that I talked too much about myself during that time. I also got a kind of cold-shoulder thing from her husband, so I thought, well, maybe this is because he's angry about the fact that I didn't give my roommate, who keeps hitting on me, a Christmas present, because I didn't want him to take it as "encouragement." So I sent him a letter, and said, look, I didn't want to say anything because you're friends, but this is why I didn't give him a present. (Note: this is something you should know about me. If you don't tell me what's wrong, I'll rack my brains trying to figure out what could potentially be wrong, and apologise for anything I can think of that I might have done to offend you. Odds are *extremely* high that I'll guess the wrong thing, so it's better for everyone involved if you just tell me up front. Saves time, aggravation, and embarrassment for everyone. Oh, I'll also try everything else before I try the "ending friendship" option.)

Still silence.

Eventually, I said something along the lines of, "Look, Sarah, if you don't tell me what you're upset about, then I can't very well learn from this or change my behavior in the future, now can I?"

Eventually, she sent me the following email:

OK Simone,here goes in no particular order:

a) you lied about not contacting Iain about the phone: you told me you were going at least four days before you left, so where did this "48 hours" business come from? Besides, you knew that I was a friend of Iain's, and I would have passed the phone back to him if you had just left it with the laptop (which is what Iain initially assumed you had done). Why did you leave it at Matthew's when Matthew stayed overnight with you on your last night in June, anyway?

Now, this may sound like a little thing, but I'm very suspicious of people who lie about little things. It makes me ask why they feel the need to lie.

b) Before you left, you spent over an hour telling me how wonderful things were between you and Matthew. Obviously this changed sometime in the interim between June and November.
[editor's note: yes, actually, that's exactly what happened. When I got back to the US, Matthew opted for "out of sight, out of mind," dumped me, and returned to sleeping with his ex-girlfriend. Thanks for asking.]

But all that stuff in your long WX post about "When I first got to London, I found out something really bad, that I'm afraid, again, I can't talk about.". You discovered that Matthew was cheating on you? You're quite prepared to publicly humiliate Mark, Iain and I with your dramatic apology, but Matthew, the one who really hurt you, deserves some privacy does he?

c) You came over once without a job, without backup and without a support network, and had to return home. That is a forgiveable mistake. But then you do the same thing again, six months later?

What that proves to me is that you don't learn by your mistakes. In fact, one of the things that I have noticed is that you're convinced it's just something that you've "done" that has made people go off you. It's what you haven't done, Simone. You don't listen to anybody else; you don't seem to care about anybody except yourself.

I was also deeply offended by your jokey comments about your family being "white trash" because your teenage niece was pregnant. Even though I pulled you up on it, and explained that my mother was a teenager when she had me, as was my cousin when she had her eldest, you didn't think to apologise; you just fobbed off my hurt feelings with some glib remark that was supposed to make me laugh, I think.

d) I went back through that apology about Seamus. There were nine occurrences of "I" and one occurrence of "you". What does that say? It's all about what you think that I'm feeling, not an attempt to sympathise with what I'm really feeling. So once again you're imposing your ideas of what I should be feeling rather than even thinking about finding out the reality. If you had bothered to find out, you'd know that yes, I was very upset about Seamus dying, but I'm not exactly distraught and I'm not on Prozac either. I'm not the kind of person to get distraught about a dead cat, which most of my friends (the ones who bother to find out about me) know.

There's nothing "cultural" about this at all. You have the brains, the charm and the personality to be a wonderful partner or friend, but you seem to have arrested your emotional development at around 18. I'm 36. This means I no longer do long involved conversations about whether or not X fancies me; I don't get obsessed by Martin talking to other women; and I like to talk about something other than the wonderfulness of Simone, Simone's ex-husband who looks just like Keanu Reeves (like, that's supposed to impress me, right?), Simone's dreadful life, how many men fancy Simone etc etc.

So what's the outcome? I've avoided getting in touch because I felt used the last time and I didn't want more of the same. I was assigned the role of the dumpy, sensible, non-threatening friend who provides the caring shoulder, and that's what I did for a few months. The problem is, I was never any good at role-play, and I don't do one-sided friendships either. To quote Iain, friendship is about reciprocity and caring, and I don't think you either reciprocated or cared.

Then, the final bombshell was your email about Paul's behaviour, which Martin forwarded to me. I cannot believe that you did something so malicious, and can't think what you thought you'd gain from such allegations. To be honest, I don't want to know either. As far as I'm concerned, it's over.

I apologise for hurting your feelings, but you wanted to know my reasons for laying low. I'm not going to post this on WX, because I really do think that this argument should be kept out of the public arena.

Please, have a good life, enjoy yourself, and make new friends. But I would prefer it if you didn't contact me again.

Sarah

I haven't shown anyone that letter before.

So, basically, the two people over here, besides Matthew, who I considered to be friends, had been sitting together for the last six months, ripping apart everything I did, and finding horrible motives for it. They both sent me emails telling me that I am completely self-centered and have no kindness, concern, or generosity for anyone else.

I'm not really going to defend myself in all of this. I am pretty sure that the only people reading this are personal friends, and whether or not I'm selfish or uncaring is something they already know. Whether or not I am a snob about "white trash" or look down on my family is also something they know. And whether or not the email I sent about this cat was selfish and all about me is something you can tell from reading.

What I will say is that this person no longer has the power to hurt me.

MY WEEKEND

Saturday, I spent a lot of time getting ready for the upcoming holidays. My friend, Sarah, is going to stay with me for the first few days, since her flatmate's family is coming into town, and he said, "Oh, hey, they'll take your room, and you and I can sleep in my room."

So, yes, she's staying with me.

Tuesday night, we are going to see Eddie Izzard together at Wembley Stadium. Wednesday night, we are going to see Return of the King, and then Thursday night, aka "Christmas," we are going to stay in my flat and get roaring drunk. I have agreed to this as a sort of bribe. It's the equivalent of losing a bet.

Anyway, I've been working more than 40 hours a week outside of my regular 40-hour-per-week job, so as you can imagine, at this point I am exhausted, and my house was a mess as well as completely devoid of supplies. (Cue Chinese man jumping out from behind a bush.) So Saturday, I did some housecleaning, purchased 10 bottles of wine and other random necessities, and met the bunny I will be bunny-sitting over the holidays. His name is Spike, and he is the Cutest Bunny Ever. He is housetrained and adorable.

After that, I did more work. (I am working on flash animations with voiceovers of patients talking to their doctors about their various mental illnesses. This gives me much amusement. For example, when I screwed up the timing, it sounded like the man with Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder kept interrupting his doctor.)

Sunday, Sarah called, and asked if I'd like to go look at artwork with her. It was a beautiful sunny day, so I figured it was time to take a day off and go play. Which I did.

We walked for miles and miles, looking at paintings. I ended up buying two, and somehow agreeing to create a website for a couple of painters. This happens.

Frequently.

I'll probably end up taking more artwork in trade, although I'm not really sure.

We walked through Speakers Corner at Hyde Park, where I was informed of the following Valuable Facts:



1. We do not need Viagra(tm) because we have Olive Oil.

2. We are all going to burn in Hell, and will be raised up as worms which crawl on their bellies.

I am passing this wisdom on to you, because I care.

By the time we finished looking at and purchasing paintings (and being informed of the doom which awaits us all, as whores), we decided it was time to sit down in a warm building with beverages. So we walked a bit until we came to a weird little pub in Soho, and then went in.

I know I've mentioned this before, but the attitude toward pubs in this country is completely different from the American. They're not so much dingy bars as they are neighborhood meeting places, and there are often children inside as well. It's just interesting, because spending six hours in a bar in the US would be just an entirely different thing from spending six hours in a pub in London.

I think that's about how long we ended up staying there.

We sat down and had drinks and gossiped a bit about random things. It was only a matter of time before we needed to take turns going to the bathroom. Sarah went first, and when she came back she said that there was a big table of 20 or so people in the back, half of whom were Americans, and that you needed to scoot by the table in order to get to the restroom.

So I got up and walked to the back of the pub, and said, "excuse me" as I scooted around this one woman's chair.

She turned around and said, "I'm sorry, but you can't get by without the password. What's the password?"

I said, "Hey, I'm an American! You have to let me past."

She said, "Oooo, then you *really* need a password. Come on, what's the password?"

To which I responded, "Um, 'we've got the bomb'?"

Which was applauded and I was let by.

Turns out there weren't actually any Americans at the table after all.

When I got into the restroom, the men pounded on the walls until I came out again, at which point I received another round of furious applause. I bowed, thanked them, and said that I hadn't received this much affirmation for going to the bathroom since my toilet training years.

I went back to my table, where Sarah was waiting, and she wanted to know what had happened (she heard the applause and roaring), so I told her.

The rest of this is being cut-and-pasted from an email to a friend, because I'm tired and can't possibly type this again. But I had a sort-of-boyfriend, once, who used to cut-and-paste "heartfelt declarations of love" to me from letters to past girlfriends (some environmentally-friendly people, evidently, feel more strongly than others about the benefits of recycling), so whenever I plagiarise myself like this, I feel the need to inform the reader. So here is the self-plagiarised rest of the story:

Sarah had been drinking. And she tends to enjoy going home from pubs and parties with people of the male persuasion. This is not even remotely me, but I don't think anything badly of anyone else for being that way. Just a different personality is all. Less uptight.

So anyway, she decided she wanted to meet these people in the back room, or at least the male members of the party.

Eventually, she went back to the bathroom, and not much happened.

Then, a few hours later, I went again (remember, we were at this pub for like 6 hours) and this time, received thunderous applause, was informed on my way in that I was being timed, and when I came out, they handed me an award (a silver drinks tray) and demanded a speech. I thanked the academy, my parents, and my brother in lustful Hilary Swank fashion. I then left, and Sarah asked what had gone on *this* time, and I told her.

So, at this point, I dragged Sarah back to the back room and demanded that she also receive recognition for her fabulous toilet ability.

Yes, my life really is this surreal sometimes.

Okay, so the rest of the evening was...well, it's like this: I have no intention of going home with anyone I have just met in a pub, regardless of who they are. Ever. Sarah is of a different bent. So men from the back came out to get drinks a bunch of times, and Sarah talked to them, and I chatted politely when spoken to. So, of course, my polite indifference rendered me *completely irresistible*.

I wasn't quite sure what to do with Sarah flirting outrageously with these men, while I was trying to be polite and friendly and yet distant enough not to end up having to extricate myself from anything, especially since the more I was polite and friendly yet clearly not trying to pick anyone up, the more picking me up seemed like such a Fine Idea. I didn't want to put a damper on Sarah, but also didn't want it to come off like I was in on this whole Take Men Home Plan.

What do you do when your friend is talking about things like, uh, well, breasts? On the one hand, you don't want to ruin anyone else's evening, but on the other hand, can I just repeat, what exactly do you do when your friend is sitting across the table from you, talking to a strange man about her breasts?

So at some point this guy that she found particularly delectable sort of hinted that he wouldn't mind getting together after the pub--the problem, of course, being that he was saying this to the wrong woman. And she didn't hear him say this, so of course I just ignored it. And then she found out later that he may have been interested in going somewhere, only she didn't really know the context, and she was flabbergasted that this offer wasn't being taken up on.

Of course, my only defense here is that he was talking about me and not her, but it's not like I am going to tell her that. So I'm afraid she's back into the realm of thinking that I'm dreadfully prudish or something.

Incidentally, in case I haven't made it abundantly clear, Sarah didn't do anything at all to embarrass herself in any way, and she's delightful and so was well-received. It's just that I'm a girl who wanted to go home alone.

And did.

And then I immediately checked my email and did a small amount of work, because that's just what I do.

The end.

Oh, PS: my favorite conversation-with-a-stranger last night was with Mr. Delectable, and it went like this:

Mr. D: I'm a cartographer. Unfortunately, pretty much everything is mapped at this point, so there's not a lot for cartographers to do.

Me: Oh, you should move to San Francisco, then, where freeways are occasionally leveled by earthquakes, and then they decide not to rebuild them. Everyone would be wandering around going, "Hey, where do we go," and you could be all, "Stand back, folks, I'm a cartographer."

...I guess you had to be there.