Connectivity

There's this fundamental need to connect. To communicate. To share whatever shit we're going through with someone, anyone. Another person we can see, touch and hear, who validates our perceptions and experiences. Our existence.

Everyone's talking about disconnection. Disconnection and globalisation. The world gets smaller and we get further apart. We don't buy birthday cards or drop by for coffee. We like status updates and send text messages. For a lot of us, our most significant relationships are with people who don't share the same post code. Maybe not even the same country. For a lot of us, we look at new friendships with suspicion and distance because we know each of them has a shelf life. 36 months, 24, 12. That's the amount of time before one of us moves somewhere else so let's not get too close because this is all just temporary. 

My best friend. Soul mate, really. Lives on the other side of the world and I know the amount of times we see each other in person will be stretched out over years and measured in days. Sometime over the next couple of years I'll have to decide where I'm going to live somewhat permanently, and yeah, sure. I could use his city. I have pieces in my heart planted all over the continental US and I've thought, at one point, how much I wish I lived in the same city as every one of them. Following that thought is the fear of being too close. I've gotten so used to them all being voices on phones and text on screens, the idea of doing the face-to-face terrifies me. 

This week has been rough. My cat's been sick, and at one point, I spent an entire day contemplating what the quality of my life would be like if she died and how much I depend on her for stability. Yes, I know. A cat is the basis for my stability. She's been the only consistent thing in my life for the past ten years. Everything else has changed every 6-12 months. 

There was a blow up with my ex/former collaborator. It didn't need to be like that, but he's not the easiest person to talk to. A lot of things were said purely out of spite and malice. As per my usual wounded-animal routine, I hid from everyone who would refute what was said about me. Not the best move, but at least I'm consistent. 

Somewhere along the line I plateaued in a depressive episode. Brought on by one or the other or just shitty timing, I've really stopped trying to pick out whether or not there's a reason for each chemical malfunction because it really doesn't change it. 

Today is Father's Day. 7 months and 4 days after my dad died. I know there are a lot of things I haven't resolved about that. I haven't deleted his phone number from my contacts yet. We're rounding out the year of firsts, though. His birthday in three months. The anniversary of his death a month and a half after that. 

There's no reason anyone should have any interest in what I have to say. In fact, there's a lot I don't say on a daily basis for that very reason. But there's that impulse I mentioned. To take whatever is rolling around in my head and inflict it on someone else.