Confessions of a cowardly curmudgeon

Here are two things that you may not know, or, indeed not care to know about your correspondent.

1. I fear festivals.

2. I fear phones.

This may surprise some who have met me. I am endlessly fascinated by humans and mostly love 'em to death. I also like to chat. Lord, how I like to chat. And I would describe myself as being pro-"fun". I can also do a very good facsimile of enjoying a crowd. That said, the very idea of a Festival of The Phone would cause me to break out in hives.

As for festivals, given a choice between The Arts and The Opposite of the Arts (i.e. Sports, Science, Fly Fishing), I usually incline towards the former. For me, however, festivals = an endless round of  bitter disappointment. Festivals = drinking warm beer out of plastic cups with people you have been studiously avoiding for years. Festivals = people on stilts. As I left the city on Friday, the railway station was crawling with eager Fringe-goers. Needless to say I was sickened, bug-eyed and starting to foam at the mouth as I clambered on the next train traveling steadfastly in the opposite direction. And I keep getting invited to something called The Garden of Earthly Delights. Was not that painted by Bosch? Exactly.

As for phones, I was raised with a morbid fear of interrupting somebody's meal time. I still remember Dad hissing at Mum: Dear!I bet they're having their tea! (Mum and Dad always called each other "dear" when they were most cross). It never occurred to Dad that perhaps not EVERYONE ate their tea at 6pm on the dot like we did. I think that particular fear has extended to a morbid fear of interrupting, well, anything. Of interrupting a thought. A glass of water. An ad on TV. My fear paralyses me. For me to ring someone for a chat involves a complex process of visualising myself having that chat (of course, always airily and pithily) for months in advance before plucking up the courage to actually dial. Let alone speak.

Today, after about four weeks of agony, I finally rang one of my best friends from school. We have not spoken for about two years - not out of any malice, just a combination of busy-ness, laziness and interstate-ness. I had been fretting as I knew my schoolfriend had relatives in country Victoria. I wanted to make sure that everyone had survived the bushfires. I knew he would think I was being an old hen. But I could not rest until I knew for sure.

While Dear Patient M had wisely and patiently counselled me towards picking up the phone and talking into it some weeks ago, I tried everything I could to avoid that unpleasant task. I bought Victorian newspapers, googled casualty names, rushed into the loungeroom to watch every news report. I even watched the Memoriam Service and scanned the faces of the crowd. Eventually, in a light bulb moment, I wrote my friend an email. It bounced back.

(You must by now feel like you are watching a pantomime, wanting to yell at me "Look behind you! There is an Obvious Answer looming there!")

Anway, driving home this morning, I visualised myself walking through the door, putting my keys on the coffee table and picking up the phone like a pro. But, as it turned out, I was thwarted by the clock. I realised it was possibly lunch hour and could not bring myself to do it just yet. Having slouched over that hurdle, I then had to negotiate the timezone difference. Finally, in all my coldly sweating, lump-throated glory, I just did it.

I was so delighted that I rang. I was pleased to hear that, while his relatives had been at some risk, everyone was now safe and sound. And that those relatives lived surrounded by 'denuded paddocks'. He told me that Child Number Two was on the way (which I would not have know otherwise). He called me by my full name, something which no one else ever does. We laughed about something that someone once said in high school (it involved comparing people to watermelons). We undertook a more grown up version of the surreal riffing from when we were stoned teenagers giggling like maniacs while his parents slept in the next room. I felt like I was walking on air. And he sounded pretty happy too.

So then, I say to you, if you are suffering from similar torments, just pick up the bloody phone and ring. You will not regret it. Well, you may regret it, depending on your tendency to regret. Or if the person on the other end despises you and tells you that you are a worm. Or, of course, if you interrupt somebody's tea.

As for festivals, though, I say:

JUST RUN. RUN THE OTHER WAY, DAMN IT. DO NOT LOOK BACK.

There are people on stilts. And they are looming.

Comments

[retrogoddess73]

Well done. I am not a huge fan of phones either - especially awkward silences.

[Elizabeth]

Call me. We'll talk about it in depth. (Oh I am such a card.)

I actually know lots of people who are phone phobic. My sister-in-law is in therapy so she can get over her loathing of phones and call her daughter who has gone away to college. Do you also hate to receive calls, or is it just the making of them that you hate?

As for festivals - hot, tiring, expensive, and full of whiney children, usually my own. (And see my most recent blog post for how I feel about running into people from my past....).

[a thousand shades of twilight]

Retrogoddess: Thanks! Yes, I prefer the visual cues of face to face contact. And too much silence mortifies me (even though I realise that people are sometimes just taking their time to chew quietly after I have disturbed their tea!)

Elizabeth: One of my favourite cards, at that! Queen of the Pack!

Therapy sounds extreme, but I can sort of relate. I kind of hate myself for being so self-indulgent and making it all about me and my awkwardness.

As for receiving calls, I have an ex-friend who was quite troubled and would drink and dial at all hours, conjuring up all manner of unpleasant mischief and abuse. It was so invasive, and for a few years my adrenalin would start pumping (out of a mixture of trepidation and anger)every time the phone rang. My mum has also said that she knows not to ring me on Monday nights as I am usually grumpy about work. A real horror, aren't I?

That said, I love receiving calls from long lost or far flung friends and family. Once we get started, I can talk for HOURS without realising it. And I love the invention of the hands free phone which means that I can have a bath and do the dishes and water the garden all the while!

As for festivals, it seems that everyone has their own brand of festival hell, doesn't it?

I look forward to checking out your latest blog, too!