And the whole planet is full of them. All with different minds, different ways of doing things, different likes and dislikes.
Some of them, for example, watch sports.
Actually, a lot of them do but thankfully I don’t know too many. I know they exist because I hear about tv ratings and sometimes I will accidentally turn to the basketball channel while trying to find a Law and Order. (Law and Order is always on somewhere. It’s a beautiful thing.) However, every month or so one invades my home and I love her.
The whole reason we have cable is so that this lady, whom I love, can watch her sports. Originally, we just had basic or maybe not even that and she was like, ‘Oh god, I can’t watch football. You’re getting cable.’ The price for the cable is that she controls it when she’s here. And I shut up about it.
Except on my blog of course.
This is what’s known as co-existing. At the heart of all therapy sessions (I’m told, I can’t afford that dream remember?) is the issue of politely co-existing with all these other people who for some inexplicable reason, see the world differently. At the other heart of therapy (therapy is like a cow except instead of stomaches it has hearts) – anyway, at the other heart is mothers. This is about both.
How to do it?
Thankfully we, as a species, can’t read minds…yet. Reading minds would cripple us because we all think horrible things about each other all the time. Not that we actually mean them and we still like each other but we do think them. As much as you think you want to know what others think about your existence, you don’t. So put the mind reading thoughts out of your, uh, mind. Did you? I don’t know – why? Because I can’t read minds.
Ok, so then what?
I think the crux of co-existence is biting your tongue. Which I suck at doing. Partly because, while it’s polite, I also think it’s kind of bullshit. It leads to the kind of pent up mean thoughts you don’t want anyone to hear and you feel guilty about later. So I let it out and if it hurts feelings I say I’m sorry or I say something nice afterward and I mean both of those things.
Moi: Goddamn this golf shit is boring.
Moi: I’m sorry, I know you like it and you know a lot about it. You’re a really good golfer. That Japanese golfer is kind of hot and I like his pants.
or this exchange that happened yesterday:
Mom: I think he looks great.
Moi: I’m sorry. You’re a fan. He is a handsome fellow and his ass looks great in those silk pants. If he were a golden girl he would totally be Blanche.
See? I don’t have to sit around and stew and now Mom knows my feelings on the subject. Her response to my complaints, “Too bad. We’re watching this.”
Then I accept that.
How do you co-exist with the ones you love?