Throwaway Teacher

A couple months ago, Small Town Guy proposed a Zoom meetup for everyone in our social circle since we were all still living under the shelter in place order. I'd kept in touch with Small Town Guy and my other friends in Small Town through Facebook and texting, but I hadn't actually seen any of them since I moved to College Town three years ago.

The first time we all talked on Zoom, we ended up talking for more than three hours. It was wonderful to see all of them again and hear about their lives, as well as tell them about my life here in College Town. Small Town Guy is now living with his girlfriend. When I saw him on screen, I thought of how just a few years ago I thought I was head over heels for him, but whatever I felt for him paled in comparison to what I felt for the Model. Nevertheless, I couldn't help feeling a small pang when I saw him with his girlfriend in the house they share. I thought that if he had felt the same way about me back then, I might have suffered a lot less heartache than what I went through with the Model, especially because even though Small Town Guy has his flaws, he's not a narcissistic sociopath like the Model is. On paper, Small Town Guy was almost perfect for me (whereas the Model was wrong for me in pretty much every way), but he just wasn't that into me.

We all had such a good time talking to each other on Zoom that we arranged more Zoom meetups. But the most recent one ended badly, at least for me. I want to preface this by saying that I actually liked Small Town Guy's girlfriend because she was a nice person and I'd never had a conflict with her before. The Girlfriend, who is a tenured professor at the college where I used to teach in Small Town (though unlike me, she does not teach English classes because she works for a different department), kept talking about an award she'd won for her research.

Then we started talking about the classes we were teaching. I mentioned how a few of my students were not doing their assignments in the freshman composition classes I was teaching, and the Girlfriend said, "Well, that's because it's a throwaway class that no one cares about."

And that's was the moment that I wished that I was with her in person, so that I could do THIS:



via GIPHY

I didn't say anything right away, but through the webcam I could see my facial expression change from a cheerful smile to something more like this:



via GIPHY

I didn't say anything for a long time, until someone else commented that I was being really quiet. Finally, I spoke up: "You know, I don't think that the General Education classes that I teach are 'throwaway classes'. I think that they're important too."

The Girlfriend quickly said, "Oh, I wasn't talking about your classes." But she knows that as an untenured faculty member, the only classes that I am literally allowed to teach are General Education classes, like freshman composition and lower-level literature classes, whereas as a tenured professor, she gets to teach advanced classes and graduate seminars.

Small Town Guy did not say much either. He stayed out of the conversation and got down on the floor to play with their dog, maybe so he wouldn't have to look me in the eye or witness the smoke coming out of my ears.

I told them that I had to go and I logged out of the conversation. But here's what I wanted to say to the Girlfriend and to the others, many of whom were also tenured professors: "I'm not like you. I'm not on the tenure track. I most likely never will be. I admit that I envy you. But I don't resent your success because you earned it. But I work hard too, and I'm a good teacher. Yet no one will ever recognize the value of my work like they do yours just because I'm not a tenured professor. I'm not even eligible for more than half the awards that you've won because I'm untenured. Untenured faculty like me teach bigger classes and have heavier courseloads so that tenured professors like you can teach fewer, smaller classes that are related to your pet projects.

"Yes, it's true that most of the students don't want to take GenEd classes. But there's a reason that the classes I teach, unlike the classes YOU teach, are required for almost every college student in the country. The skills and knowledge I teach, like writing, are essential in college AND the workplace. I'm not saying that your classes aren't important too, but I AM saying that my classes are not 'throwaways' either.

"The reason some students ask for extensions isn't always because they view my classes as throwaways that they don't care about, as you so thoughtlessly put it. It's because they spend at least 6-7 hours a day on their phones and 1-2 hours a day on their homework. Then the deadlines start piling up and they panic and ask me for extensions. But not all of my students are like that. Some of them show me several pages of notes and outlines they wrote for a five-page paper. They want to do well and are willing to work hard.

"I know you didn't mean to insult me. But you did. And I need you to understand where I'm coming from, so that you'll understand why it's not okay to say crap like that."

But I didn't say that. I wish I had. It made me think of the pandemic and how although millions of people were furloughed or lost their jobs, others were classified as "essential" workers and were able to keep working. It made me wonder about the value people place on certain jobs and how it must have affected the people who weren't classified as "essential", even though their work was important too.

It also made me think of how that conversation, as well as the Girlfriend's attitude, was indicative of the hierarchical nature of academia. It's a world where there are way too many people with PhDs and not enough jobs, so we all have to do whatever we can to succeed. It's so competitive that it's cutthroat. And there's definitely a wide gap between the tenured faculty and untenured faculty because of the disparity in how we're treated and paid. But it's also a world that I chose to work and live in, so it's just something that I have to deal with.

But the next time they organize a Zoom meetup, I'm going to say that I can't join in. I'll just say something like, "Oh, I can't. I have to replenish my voodoo doll collection so that I can cast a curse on someone tonight, one that will hopefully cause them to have nightmares that make them wake up screaming or one that will cause their hair to turn into the snakes that adorned Medusa's head. But have fun on Zoom!"

I'm not saying I'll never talk to them again because I will. But I think it's best if I not participate in the next Zoom meetup because what the Girlfriend said still bothers me, and I don't want to lash out at her or any of the others.

What about you? Do you deal with competitive or condescending people in your line of work? Are you an essential worker, and if so, what has it been like for you?

Truth Be Told

Recently, a former friend of mine published a memoir that included recollections of the small town we grew up in. There were several aspects of it that made me bristle and say, "Hey! That's not how I remember it!"

For example, Former Friend claimed that at our Catholic high school, there was only one single-session sex ed class a year, and it was taught by our gym teacher. But although it is true that they didn't really teach us much about "safe sex," what I also remember is that our religion teachers taught sex ed. I remember that sex ed occurred a lot more often than once a year, probably because they were afraid that we hormonal teenagers would be "corrupted" by the sin of premarital sex. (Little did they know that a lot of the students' minds had already been corrupted. If they had known, I can totally imagine the religion teachers shaking their heads sorrowfully while saying that we were going to go to hell unless we repented and the priests throwing holy water at us or something.)

(Side note: Although I am still a practicing Catholic and believe in many of its core principles, such as the Golden Rule of treating other people with kindness and compassion, there are several other things about the Church that I strongly disagree with.)

I don't remember our gym teacher teaching us sex ed, although he may have taught it to Former Friend and their classmates (Former Friend was in a different grade). I do remember that when the gym teacher taught us how to lift weights, he stood over us and yelled, "You're WEAK! Is that all you can benchpress, WEAKLING?" I also remember wishing I could say, "Who are you calling a weakling? Take THAT!" And then I'd karate kick him in the face.

Former Friend's memoir made me think about what might happen if I ever publish my work-in-progress, a book-length memoir titled Obsessions of a Workaholic. Since it's not a novel, I can't say, "It's fiction, and it's not based on you, of course," if someone from my life were to read it and get upset by my depiction of him or her. Everything that I've described in this blog really did happen, but I've had to alter the descriptions of some of the situations and/or people in order to protect their identities and my own.

That makes me wonder how much "altering" I'll need to do in my book. Since teaching has been such an important part of my life, naturally there are several chapters about my work as a teacher. But I have to be very careful about what I write, especially when it comes to the students.

Many of my students are good students who work hard, are polite and respectful to me and their classmates, and are dedicated to earning good grades and learning as much as they can while they are in college. Some of them have truly inspired me because of the writing they produced in my class or because of what they confided in me about their dreams for the future, which made me hope that all of their dreams would come true.

But as any teacher can relate, every year there is always a small, select group of students who are the complete opposite: the ones who are hostile and disrespectful, or the ones who believe they "deserve" A's just for showing up to class. These students are why my hair started turning white the first year I started teaching, and they are also why I always keep a bottle of Tylenol in my office at school.

Since I'm still working on the first draft, I've been writing down all the details that I can remember, everything from the student who confided in me about what it was like to be a transgender teenager in a community that believes people like them are mentally ill, to the student whose verbal attacks almost drove me to tears in front of one of the first classes I ever taught, causing several of the other students to feel sorry for me and apologize to me for that student's behavior after class was over.

I recently read a book titled Waiter's Rant, written by Steve Dublanica, who wrote about his experiences as a waiter at a fancy restaurant that the rich and famous dined at. His book was based on his blog, where he initially wrote under the pseudonym the Waiter. Once he revealed his true identity, he admitted that he'd never be able to get another restaurant job because of what he wrote. Fortunately for him, his book became a New York Times best-seller and he didn't have to wait tables anymore after it was published.

But the difference between him and me is that he didn't want to be a waiter until he retired, whereas I know that I want to spend my life as a writer AND a teacher. The problem is, if I write the whole truth and nothing but the truth about my former students, especially the ones who gave me the most problems, I could lose my job. Teachers are held to a different standard. Academia is a small world, and it's not just competitive, it's cutthroat because there are way too many people with PhDs and not enough jobs. I am a college professor, but I am untenured, which means that I don't have the job security that tenured professors have. If I lost my job, there would literally be hundreds of people lined up who would be more than happy to take my place.

This generation of students in particular is the one known for their "microaggressions" and demands for "trigger warnings" in their curriculum. Most of the students I've come across over the years are not like them, but there are nevertheless a few others I've read about in the news (as well as ones I've encountered in my own classes) who claimed that they were "offended" by things that their teachers said or wrote and then launched campaigns to destroy those teachers' careers and reputations, driving them out of their schools, and in some cases, out of education altogether. Sometimes, the teachers really did say offensive things, but in other cases, they didn't, but were nevertheless interpreted as such. Either way, I don't think that any of them deserved to be the target of hateful harassment campaigns.

Although I've achieved several of my academic and professional goals, I still have other goals. And I'm afraid that if this memoir did get published, I could lose everything I've worked for and everything I'm still working for if I revealed too many details about certain students.

I thought that if this book does get published, I could use my pseudonym: Neurotic Workaholic. But if and when I do become a published writer, I'd like to see my real name printed on my story, and if and when that happens, I'll reveal it on this blog. That's the thing about this blog: I can be more candid here because almost no one in my offline life knows that I'm the one writing this blog. It's different when it's a published book or short story.

For now, I've decided to follow Anne Lamott's advice about writing the "bad" first draft by including everything that I can remember, and I'll go back and edit it once I finish the first draft. I also try to remember what I've learned from other creative nonfiction writers I've read and heard speak: that what you write in creative nonfiction doesn't necessarily have to be 100% factual, as long as the core of what you're saying is true. David Sedaris, after all, is a creative nonfiction writer, but even he "embellishes" the truth about what happened. Dave Barry's hilarious columns are funny partly because he exaggerates a lot of things.

I think that one possible solution is that rather than describe the problem behavior of specific students, I could describe the problem behavior of a range of students, like the ones who sit in the back of the classroom, listen to music on their phones (even after I tell them to take off their headphones, they'll protest by saying, "But the music isn't even that loud!" And then I make a mental note to take some Tylenol right after class), and tune me out for weeks until they get their grades back. Then they blame ME when they don't get A's, and I also make a mental note to get my hair dyed to cover the white hair that is literally sprouting from my head at that moment. That might be less controversial than describing specific students.

What about you? Do you write creative nonfiction? If you do, how do you write about the "problematic" people you've encountered in your life? What do you think of memoirists who "embroider" the truth, as the writer Ruth Reichl admitted doing in her memoirs? (I love her books, regardless.)

Friends with Kids

Ever since I turned thirty-seven, I've been thinking a lot about the fact that I will most likely never have children. Richard Gere can father a child at age sixty-eight, but women can't do that. I know that a lot of women do get pregnant in their forties, but that usually happens with the help of fertility treatments or surrogates, which I, an underpaid English teacher with two jobs and thousands of dollars in student loan debt, cannot afford. Not to mention I do not have a husband or a boyfriend, and I'm on the pill, so I'd say my chances of getting pregnant are slim to none.

When I lived in Small Town, several of my friends there had young children, which affected their social lives. That is, unlike my college-aged neighbors, who regularly woke me up at 2 A.M. with their loud parties that made them sound like they were drunk wolves howling at the moon, my thirtysomething friends often had to leave our get-togethers by nine or ten P.M. to get home in time to pay the babysitter or tuck in their children.

When they hosted parties at their homes, they often invited their other friends to bring their kids along, and they would have kid-friendly activities available, like a crafts table, a swing set and plenty of toys, etc. The kids would work on their art projects or run around, playing, while their parents kept one eye on them while conversing with the rest of us. I would sit with the parents, suddenly feeling so much younger than them, despite the closeness in our ages, because I did not have any children of my own. Unlike my friends with kids, I never had to say things like, "Annie, be careful with your soda. You're going to spill it," or "No, you can't have any more soda. If you drink any more you're going to be up all night and then I'll be up all night and you know how cranky Mommy gets when she gets tired," or "Oh, my God! Do not eat that worm! That's not food! I am so sorry, everyone. He's just curious. My son doesn't normally eat worms or anything else that's still moving, haha!"

I didn't really know what to say to them sometimes. It's not like I could relate to their stories about being up all night with a crying baby or how difficult it was to handle life with a toddler. So I'd usually say things like, "So, I, uh, hear that it's hard to get kids into kindergarten these days! What is up with that?"

Here in College Town, I've joined a Meetup group made up of women, most of whom are close to my age, who go out for dinner to various restaurants in the area. At a Thai restaurant one night a few weeks ago, we were talking about motherhood. I said I was ambivalent about having kids, and one of the women, who had a child of her own, said, "If you're not a hundred percent sure that you want to be a mother, you shouldn't do it."

And I knew she was right. My father is still holding out hope that I'll be married with at least one child within the next few years. My mother tells me about all her friends' daughters, most of whom are younger than me, who are already married with children. She has called me an old maid on more than one occasion, including my birthday one year, where instead of giving me birthday wishes she commented on the fact that I was now an old maid in my thirties. I haven't told either of them that it is very unlikely I'll be a mother. But then again, they still think that I'm a Republican, like they are, and I have to bite my tongue from shrieking like a banshee when my mother quotes Sean Hannity and says that Donald Trump is a "good man". I learned a long time ago that the less they know about my life, the better, because we fight enough about the little they do know as it is.

My parents are partly why I am ambivalent about having children. My mother is a verbally abusive, controlling pessimist who is always convinced that the worst-case scenario will happen, which is why she predicted that I wouldn't last five years as a teacher. (I've been teaching for more than a decade now, but she keeps reminding me that I'm untenured and not secure in my job, in order to emphasize that I made the wrong decision.) My father is a verbally abusive, controlling cock-eyed optimist who stubbornly holds on to his view of the world even when everything is falling to pieces around him. My sibling is their golden child, who is not treated half as badly by them as I am, and gets angry when I get upset with our parents because my sibling agrees with both of them that I am the one with the problem.

I only see my parents twice a year for a few days each time, and I call them once a week out of obligation. I talk to my sibling less often. Therefore, I've always viewed time with family as time to dread and be endured, not time to look forward to or to cherish. It's hard for me to picture myself with a happy family because I never got to have one, and part of me is afraid that I'll turn out to be like my mother or my father if I had my own kids. And I know that although they would love to have grandchildren, eventually their cruel streak would surface and they would lash out at my kids. And then I'd fight back as hard as I could because I'll be damned if I let them hurt my kids like they hurt me.

I think that parents have the toughest, most stressful, most heartbreaking, and most rewarding job in the world. It's a job that they can't ever quit, and I have to admit, the idea of having my own son or daughter who may even look like me, someone who I would love unconditionally, is appealing.

But I've always viewed motherhood as akin to winning the lottery. It'd be an amazing life-changer, but it's okay if it never happens. And I haven't gone out of my way to buy lottery tickets. And although my job status as an untenured college professor is insecure, I like that if I were to get a good job offer at some school halfway across the country, I have the freedom to just pack up my stuff and go.

Here in College Town and the other small Midwestern towns that surround it, people typically marry their high school or college sweethearts before they turn twenty-five and have several kids before they turn thirty. That's why most of the single guys my age are divorced with children, including two of the guys I dated, the Artist and the Musician. I know that it's slightly unrealistic to prefer to date a guy close to my age without kids, but...

Sometimes I feel guilty about the fact that I'm not thrilled at the prospect of becoming a mother or stepmother. I feel like society pressures women to view marriage and motherhood as not only a happy ending but the only happy ending. And if a woman chooses to create a different kind of happy ending for herself, she's considered "weird."

On the other hand, I'd rather be "weird" than to be living a life that I don't really want.

What about you? Do you have kids? If you do, how did you know that you wanted to be a parent? If you don't have kids, how do you feel about parenthood?

Now That I'm 37...

1. I think it might be time to stop dating guys in their twenties (the Model was in his twenties, and after things ended with him, all I was left with were a broken heart, empty pints of ice cream, and lingerie that I had to hide when my parents came to visit). When I did online dating the last time, some of the worst guys I was "matched" with were in their twenties, like all the guys who wanted me to invite them over to my apartment after we'd only been talking for five minutes, or the guy who specified in his profile that his girlfriend could only wear her hair in a ponytail once or twice a week (That would just make me show up for the date with my hair in a ponytail).

2. I need to learn how to say "no" more often. That is, "No, you can't have a two-day extension on your paper just because you have a lot of other homework to do," or "No, it's not okay for you to be rude to me, Retail Salesperson, just because you hate your job and are married to Satan," or "No, I will NOT send you nudes, Creepy Guy on Tinder!"

3. I think it might be time to start dating more guys in their thirties, except the problem is that while a lot of the guys in their twenties, at least the ones that I was matched with on Tinder and Bumble, are mainly just interested in sex (although to be fair, Tinder is a well-known hookup site), most of the guys in their thirties (at least the ones around here) either want significantly younger women (which would make me "too old" for them, even if I'm the same age as them), or they want to "settle down" and find stepmothers for their multiple children. I've never really been the maternal type. I don't even know what to say to children. I think the last time I talked to a friend's five year old, I said something like, "You're so lucky that you get to take naps at school."

4. It's time for me to manage my time more effectively so that I can have more time to do the things I want to do, like write, travel, and spend time with friends. I never thought I'd say that I should spend less time at work, but when I look back on my twenties and thirties, I regret how much time I spent working and all the things that I sacrificed or missed out on.

5. I need to choose my friends more carefully. I spent too many years with "friends" who blew me off at the last minute, expected me to spend hours listening to their problems but criticized me for talking about mine, or claimed they "weren't hungry" and then asked if they could "share" my dessert (do you want to lose a hand? Then NO!).

I turned thirty-seven a few weeks ago. In addition to stocking up on anti-aging cream and Googling "How much is Botox?", it made me think of how I want my life to be different from now on, and so I have to make it different. I think that doing the things above will make my life easier, and maybe I'll even be a little happier, too.

What about you? As you get older, what kinds of things have you started doing differently?

Side note: I haven't blogged in several weeks because of blogger's block, too many papers to grade, and e-mails from students who think that homework is for quitters.

Singing My Way Out of the South

Before I left Small Town for good, Small Town Guy organized a going-away dinner for me. Nine of my friends showed up for the dinner, which meant a lot to me. When I first moved to Tennessee, I didn't know a single person there. I'd come from a life in Chicago that revolved around work, eating alone in school cafeterias, and kicking/and or swearing at guys who tried to grope me on the El. My life in Small Town also revolved around work, but it also included shared meals and parties with friends. When I look back on the two years I spent in the South, I'll miss the friendships I made there the most.

I remember looking at everyone as we ate together and spent hours talking, and thinking to myself, It'll never be like this with them ever again. Sure, I might come back to visit, but that is a long time from now (I have to pay off at least some of the enormous debt I incurred from all my moving expenses first), and by the time I come back, some people will have moved on to other places too and new people will have shown up, and it won't be the same. It made me feel sad when I thought of how this was yet another important part of my life that I had to give up in order to pursue a career in academia.

Although many things bothered me about my life in Small Town, such as the fact that I wasn't treated fairly at work, drivers who drove fifteen miles an hour in the left lane, and neighbors who yelled "WHOOOO" approximately five hundred times a night while tossing beer cans in the parking lot, there are some things I'll miss, other than my friends.

I'll miss the mild weather (it felt like spring lasted a lot longer there), even though Small Town basically shut down during the winter. There were usually no more than a couple inches, but it was enough to make most of the restaurants, stores, and schools shut down. People frantically stocked up at Walmart for the "blizzard," and I'd say, "You mean the snow that is melting as we speak?" In the Midwest, we get several feet of snow, wear multiple layers of clothing for more than two-thirds of the year, and keep ourselves warm by complaining about how cold it is.

I'll miss the mountains. As I drove out of the South, I went from driving past the green mountains of Tennessee to the flat farmland of the Midwest. Sometimes when I got claustrophobic in Small Town, I'd drive to bigger cities and towns, but what I enjoyed most was looking at the mountains. I never failed to marvel at how beautiful they all were.

I'll miss the interesting cities in Tennessee, including Nashville, which was my favorite. It was several hours away from Small Town, but I liked going there because of its thriving literary scene, including the open mic nights and poetry readings that were held there every week, hosted by hipsters who would no doubt have tossed their man buns at me in disgust if they saw all the pop songs on my playlist (I heart you, Taylor Swift. You too, Ariana Grande.) I even took a one-day writing workshop at The Porch, which is a writer's collective.

Nashville also has a really good music scene. A few months ago, I watched Vanessa Carlton perform (she sounds just as good live as she does on her albums) at 3rd and Lindsley, a bar that has a Sunday night concert series.

I also went to a concert at the Grand Ole Opry (there were a variety of musicians that I didn't recognize, but they were all very good), where several people attended wearing cowboy hats and boots. I also walked down Broadway in Nashville, which is full of honky tonk bars where aspiring country musicians perform. I bought a soda in a couple of those bars and listened to the musicians sing, and I thought it was so cool that I basically had access to all these "concerts" for the price of a couple bucks.

I told the English Department secretary at my former school about my new job in College Town, and I remarked about how I had spent almost my entire life in the Midwest. She said, "Well, maybe it's where you need to be." Maybe she's right, at least for now. But I think it was good for me to get out of my comfort zone, live in a state that I had never been to before, work at a rural college, teach students whose mindset was very different from my Chicago students (in Small Town, several students wore Make America Great Again hats. If they did that in Chicago, people would probably snatch the hats right off their heads, yell, "What's the matter with you, FOOL?" and throw the hats into oncoming traffic), and make new friends.

Before I left, I made a "Southern Songs" playlist made up of country music. Even though I felt sad to leave my friends behind, I sang practically the whole time I drove out of the South.

What about you? If you were to leave your town/city behind, what would you miss most?

Old Friends, Googling, and Mug Shots

Recently, I received an e-mail from an old friend from high school. I hadn't seen or spoken to her in person in almost twenty years (God, that makes me want to immediately apply anti-aging cream to my face). We'd exchanged e-mails for a while after graduation, and then we lost touch. She must have Googled my name because she sent the e-mail to my work address (there's a picture and profile of me on my school's website).

The message was brief and didn't really reveal anything about her life. Ordinarily, I would have e-mailed her back. When I joined Facebook, I received (and accepted) multiple friend requests from old high school friends and classmates, including people I barely talked to when we were teenagers. But this time, it was different.

When I didn't respond, she sent another e-mail a couple days later saying that she "wouldn't bother me anymore" but that she viewed me as one of her best friends. She also mentioned a few sad things that had happened in her life, which made me feel like she was trying to make me feel guilty for not responding.

She clearly has a selective memory in regards to our friendship. We were friends, but she spent much less time with me once she met her boyfriend, who came home from college almost every weekend to see her. I was only fifteen at the time, but even I could tell that it was unhealthy to let your life revolve around just one person. Our lives went in opposite directions after high school. While I moved away to attend college, earn my master's degree and PhD, and become a teacher, she married her boyfriend soon after high school and had children.

Why didn't I write back? I won't go into all the details, but let's just say that before I joined Facebook, I did a Google search of her and some other old friends, because I was curious about how they were doing. I found the usual information: their LinkedIn pages, wedding websites, pictures of their children, etc. When I Googled Old Friend's name, I found her mug shots (and that's right, I mean mug shots as in plural), as well as her details about her criminal record.

What I found shocked and scared me. I couldn't believe that the shy person I'd once been friends with would even be capable of committing crimes like that. She's not in prison now, though she did spend a little time in jail.

I wasn't sure about whether or not to respond to her e-mail at first. What was I supposed to say? "Hi, how are you? I mean apart from all the felonies?"

She still lives in the same town where we grew up, and most of the people there have steered clear of her, due to the damage caused by her actions. I suspected that she must be pretty lonely if she's seeking me out after all this time. But that still wasn't enough to motivate me to e-mail her back.

Another friend suggested that I send her one e-mail back and say that I didn't feel comfortable reconnecting, given her circumstances. But I thought that might hurt her feelings even more.

Part of me thinks that I should feel sorry for her, but I feel more pity for the people who she hurt. I feel angry at her for doing those things. She had all these options, and she chose the worst one. I know that I shouldn't judge her, especially since I don't know all the details of her life. But it's hard not to, given the circumstances.

What about you? Have you ever had a friend or acquaintance with a troubled past try to reconnect with you? What did you do, or what would you do?

Unfriended

Recently, I went through a conflict with Small Town Guy that caused me to question our friendship.

A few weeks ago, many of my friends in Small Town went to a play in a larger city nearby. They spent several days talking excitedly about the excursion and about how they were going to get all dressed up for it. Apparently, Small Town Guy organized the whole thing. But I was not invited.

I know that even though we're friends, he's not obligated to invite me to everything. But it did sting to hear everyone talking about it and to know that practically everyone else in our social circle (including New Girl, who has a new boyfriend, and it's not Small Town Guy, BTW) was invited.

It also didn't help that I saw the posts on Facebook after the play about how much fun they'd had. It made me wish that I could turn into Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty, where I'd swoop in on the gathering and then put a curse on them. (Not that I was bitter or anything.)

via GIPHY

I texted Small Town Guy the next day to ask why I hadn't been invited and to say that I felt left out. He never texted back.

I was willing to bet that not inviting me to the play hadn't been a deliberate act on his part and was probably just a mistake or an oversight. But what made me want to buy a voodoo doll and stick a picture of his face on it was the fact that he never responded to my text about how left out I felt. That was deliberate.

A few days later, he did briefly try to talk to me, but I was on my way to work and couldn't talk. I didn't talk to him for the rest of the week, until we saw each other at a birthday party for a mutual friend that was being held at a local restaurant. A large group of us were sitting at several tables pushed up next to each other. Small Town Guy sat next to me, but he kept his back turned away from me almost the whole time, so that he could talk to New Girl, who was sitting on the other side of him. It felt like he was ignoring me or that he didn't care that he hurt my feelings, which hurt even more.

A few months ago, I had a minor disagreement with Guy Friend. I texted him about it, and he responded right away. We had a good conversation about it, and he apologized for hurting my feelings. That made me feel better, and it's been fine between him and me ever since.

I truly value the friendships I've made in Small Town. They're important to me, especially after all those years in Chicago where I was a social outcast in grad school and most of my college friends had moved on to other jobs in other states or to family life in the suburbs. Small Town Guy was the first friend I had here, but his behavior towards me made me wonder if he valued my friendship. If he had sent me a text like the one I sent him, I would have definitely talked to him about it. And I guarantee that if New Girl had texted him (for any reason), he would have responded right away.

I finally confronted him a few days after the party. He didn't really explain why I hadn't been invited, though he did apologize for never responding to my text. He said that he'd been waiting to talk to me in person. But I said that all he had to do was text back, "I think we should talk about this in person. Let's talk later," which would have made all the difference, rather than just not respond at all and make me think that he didn't care about hurting my feelings. It was the first time I was completely honest with him, and things have been a little awkward between us ever since.

But if I hadn't said something, I would have kept stewing over it, until I exploded at the wrong time. I tried talking to a couple other friends about it, but they defended Small Town Guy and didn't fully understand why I felt hurt. One of them pointed out that I shouldn't have gotten upset with just him, because none of the others thought to invite me to the play either. But that just made me feel even worse. One other friend, however, did understand how I felt, which made me feel a little better.

That's why I've been focusing more on my work and distancing myself from all of them lately, declining their social invitations (though I haven't said why). I still want to be friends with them, of course, but I think I just need my space for a while.

What about you? Have you ever had a disagreement with one of your friends?

Facebook's Version, or Why I Bought a Selfie Stick

I recently did something that I vowed that I would never do. I joined Facebook.

When Facebook first came out, I was already in my mid-twenties and working three jobs by then, so I had neither the time or the interest to join the site. Maybe if I had been a few years younger and enjoyed taking dozens of pictures of myself, posing with a pout and tight clothes in front of my bathroom mirror, I would have joined.

Side note: I'd love to friend all of you on Facebook, but I prefer not to reveal my real identity on this blog. Also, I like having a secret online alter ego, kind of like Batman except without the cool car and the superhuman strength (unless you count obsessiveness as a super power, in which case I AM Batman).

Also, based on what I've heard, it always seemed like there was a lot of Facebook drama, with people saying stuff like, "Why does your relationship status still say 'single'? Do you not care about me at all?" or "They're still mad at me because I unfriended them, but it's like, I don't want to know what they're having for lunch every day! That's what Instagram is for!"

But I finally decided to join because most of my friends in Small Town are on it, and they often organize parties and other get-togethers through Facebook. The only way I would find out about any of these events was if they invited me or if I texted them to find out which bar we were meeting at. I always felt like I was out of the loop.

Speaking of feeling out of the loop, one of the first things I saw on Facebook was New Girl's page. She'd posted pictures of the big Christmas party she hosted recently, and tagged several of my friends, who were invited. I know that it's her party, and she has the right to invite or exclude whoever she wants. But I must admit that it did hurt to see pictures of practically everyone in our social circle at the party and to know that she deliberately excluded me. (See what I mean? Drama.) That's why I didn't even try to "friend" her online. I already tried that offline and it didn't end so well.

Seeing those pictures made me feel like I was the high school wallflower all over again. I can't say anything about it to Small Town Guy, though, because although they're not dating, they are close friends and his picture was all over her page.

Speaking of high school, I sent friend requests to a couple of old high school friends. It was interesting to find out what they'd been up to since graduation. But then several other people from high school sent me friend requests. I realized too late that my profile would show up on those other people's Facebook pages, as well as the "people you may know" list.

Although I accepted their requests, one of the other reasons I didn't join this site before was because I didn't want anyone I went to school with to see me, at least not until I was thinner, more successful, and married to an Abercrombie and Fitch model.

When I looked at my old friends and classmates' pages, I was struck by how "grownup" everyone looked. True, it had been more than seventeen years since we'd seen each other (God, that makes me feel old.). But it was more than that. They posted what I think of as the Facebook version of their lives, with their beautiful wedding portraits and pictures of their smiling children. Their updates included posts about parenting, breastfeeding, and the best place to buy a mattress.

While all those other people were traveling around the world, getting married, and having children, I was working, attending graduate school, and yelling at my loud neighbors (the last time I asked them to keep it down was at 2 A.M. on a Wednesday night. They said, "Oh, are you sleeping right now?" And I was all, "YES! Why aren't YOU?")

That's partly I have few recent pictures of myself. The other reason is I don't like the way I look in pictures. My lack of pictures made me feel inadequate, like I had less to show for my life than theirs. I know that's not true, because I've accomplished and experienced a lot of things too. It's just that I spent more time documenting these things through writing than through pictures, and I have a stack of journals and blog posts to prove it. That's why I like Twitter and blogging better, because there's no pressure to post pictures; the point is to express yourself through words.

I bought a selfie stick, though I was embarrassed to ask the people at the store if they sold any. I had trouble using it; I kept accidentally taking pictures of the side of my face or forehead, and my arm got tired holding it up. I only managed to get one decent picture of myself. Then I discovered the "filter" option, and I ended up looking like a cast member for The Real Housewives. How do Millennials do this all the time?

What about you? What do you think of Facebook? If you're on the site, did you ever deal with any drama with friend requests or Facebook posts?

Friends with Money

Recently, I was at a bar with some friends when a couple of them started teasing me about how much soda I drink. I told one of them (who I shall refer to in this blog as Guy Friend) that I've actually been drinking a lot less soda lately, which is true. One reason is that I'm trying to lose weight. Another reason is that when I drink too much soda the walls start moving.

But Guy Friend didn't believe me. Neither did my other friend, who said that he pictured me with an IV full of soda. I didn't say anything about the fact that most of the time, the majority of these friends only want to go to bars and drink beer. I figure, if they want to drink all that alcohol, it's their prerogative, their money, and their livers.

But I don't like bars, and I don't like alcohol either. I go anyway, because I enjoy these people's company, and I just want to be their friend. I usually just buy a soda, because it's cheaper, comes with free refills, and is less likely to cause me to slap myself in the face (which is what happened the one time I drank a cocktail several months ago).

I also don't like being made fun of. At one point, I started arguing with them, and I raised my voice (though I didn't yell). The others looked uncomfortable, so I left early. Later, I texted Guy Friend and I told him how much it bothered me when he said that he and the other friends had been talking about how "concerned" they were about me. They were "concerned" because I mentioned that I ate cookies for dinner one night; they thought I ate too much junk food. What they didn't know was that I ate cookies that night because I had no other food in my apartment; I wasn't getting paid until the next day and did not have enough money to buy more food; I was hungry, so I ate the cookies. I did not appreciate their "concern," or the fact that they talked about me behind my back.

I explained that to Guy Friend, and he apologized. A couple weeks later, he gave me a DVD as an "I'm sorry" gift, and I did appreciate that. But then that same night, when we were at another bar, I mentioned that I had to leave early in order to go home and finish work for my website job. I asked them if they knew where the waitress was so that I could pay for my soda. Small Town Guy said that he would pay for my bill and that I didn't have to repay him, though ultimately, Guy Friend paid it.

When I thought about it later, I realized that I felt uncomfortable with either of them (or anyone else) paying my tab. It would have been one thing if it was my birthday, because then it would be a gift. But on any other day, I DON'T let my friends pay my tab, because that's like asking them for money, which is something that I have never done and will never do.

I've worked multiple jobs since I was twenty-two, because I am determined to stand on my own two feet. When I finally had to take out a loan during my last two years of grad school, it was only because I was desperate to finish my dissertation and started having panic attacks from working so hard at all those jobs. But I was angry at myself for not being able to pay for everything on my own, especially because it meant being in debt for the next 15-20 years.

I didn't say anything to Small Town Guy that night, because we were all celebrating a big promotion he got at work. But what I wanted to say was, "I may not be as rich or as successful as you are, but I don't need your charity." I also wished that it hadn't happened in front of New Girl (aka Cruella de Vil) who also has a much more prestigious job than I do, which I suspect is one of the reasons she has never been friendly to me. I don't even try to talk to her anymore at social events, and she ignores me too. (Side note: She's having a big Christmas party soon and invited everyone except me. When I found out, I felt tempted to buy a bunch of toilet paper and TP her house the day of the party.)

I texted Small Town Guy and told him that I didn't need him to pay my tab in the future, because I worked hard and could pay for my own stuff. He never answered. I put a few bucks in an envelope and went to Guy Friend's office during my lunch break, dropping the money off with the secretary. He didn't say anything about it either.

I know it wasn't a big deal to any of them, but it was to me. I felt embarrassed. I know they thought they were just doing me a favor, and I shouldn't have let them pay my tab in the first place. I should have just given them the money to give to the waitress. But I don't think they would understand. They got to hang out at the bar for as long as they wanted and buy as many drinks as they wanted, while I had to go home and work late for my second job, so that I could afford to buy something other than cookies.

What about you? Have you ever felt self-conscious about money or around rich friends?

What I Wish I Knew When I Was Eighteen

1. If your college roommate tells you that she doesn't smoke, what she really means is, "My friends and I will make the dorm room smell like an ashtray."

2. It's okay to say no if friends ask if they can "share" your dessert. It's not okay to stab their hands with your fork and/or bite them if they reach for your food.

3. You don't have to do everything your parents tell you to do, and it's good (and important) to make your own decisions, no matter what they say.

4. Take notes every time you go to class, and don't lend your notes to people who are always absent.

5. Dating is not like a Hollywood romantic comedy, and Prince Charming does not exist.

6. Dating is more like an improv show where a lot of people don't know what they're doing. It's likely that you and your "costar" won't have chemistry, which will make it less entertaining and more "If I pretend to throw up, that might get me out of this earlier."

7. If "friends" tell you all about the fun they have with other friends but don't have time for you, stop listening to them and stop calling them.

8. If you decide to major in English, also major or minor in something "lucrative," so that you won't ever have to say something like, "Would you like to sign up for our store credit card?" or "I'm sorry, but you have to put your shoes (and your shirt) back on if you want to shop here."

9. When you start teaching, don't let your students walk all over you, and don't let them get away with their "excuses."

10. Eat less fast food, and cook your own food more often.

11. It's okay to prefer museums and bookstores over parties and bars, even if it means you'll go to those places on your own.

12. If your friends ignore you every time they're in romantic relationships, don't be there for them when the relationships end.

13. It's good to work hard, but it's not good to let your life revolve around work.

What about you? What do you wish you had known when you were eighteen?

You Can't Go Home Again...Or Can You?

Reasons to Leave Small Town:

1. When I first moved here, my employers hired me on a one-year contract, but they said that the position was renewable for up to three years. Now they're telling me that due to a new policy set by Human Resources, they may only be able to renew my contract for one more year.

2. Too many students told me, "I have to leave class twenty (or forty) minutes early today. Can you just tell me what I'm going to miss?"

3. I found out that there's a job opening for a more secure position at a school in the Chicago area.

4. Too many students gave excuses for not having their papers ready, like "I forgot," or "My WiFi wasn't working...again," or "My computer ate my homework."

5. This year, I taught literature and freshman composition classes. But next year, my employers said that they need me to just to teach writing, due to enrollment and staffing issues. At the Chicago school, I'd get to teach more literature classes.

6. I've heard more than one person say to me, "Don't tell me you're a liberal," as if I'd just admitted to being a bank robber, a serial killer, or a One Direction fan.

7. I've taught at that Chicago school before, and I remember that the students were very disciplined. None of them ever came in late or missed too many classes, and most of them turned in their work on time.

8. I'd really like to walk into a store or a cafe without hearing banjo music.

9. When (not if) Small Town Guy gets a new girlfriend, I'd rather not stick around and listen to them say things like, "We're moving in together!" or "We went shopping for rings today." Then I might say, "I'm thinking of adopting some cats."

10. I miss Chicago. I went there for a few days to visit, and some lady threw a cup of what may or may not have been urine at me and screamed, "Get a job (insert expletive here)!" A guy on the El hit on me on the train. When I ignored him, he got mad, picked his nose, and wiped it on my coat. But I was so happy to be back in the city that I loved that all I thought was, "Ah, Chicago. It's good to be home."

Reasons to Stay in Small Town:

1. I can't really afford to move again. The move to Small Town cost thousands of dollars, and I am still paying off some of the debts. I'd have to borrow money from my parents, and I'd rather listen to banjo music and excuses from my students than another lecture from my parents about money.

2. In Chicago most of my friends had already moved on to other cities or states. The ones that were still there lived in the suburbs and were busy with spouses and children. So I was alone a lot, which made me become even more of a workaholic. In Small Town, I've made several nice friends who I socialize with regularly. Being with them made me realize that there should be more to life than work.

3. The faculty at this school have been very kind, supportive, and welcoming to me.

4. I like living in a larger apartment that costs hundreds of dollars less than my tiny studio in Chicago, and I like having my own washer and dryer, which is something I've never had before.


I really thought I'd never live in Chicago again. But when this job opportunity came up, I decided to apply for it and see what happens. Chances are, I won't get the job, and I'll be in Small Town for another year. But if I do get that job, it will be hard to leave my new friends behind. I can't stay just for them, though.

What about you? Have you ever been torn between two places when it came to deciding where to live or work?

The Gift That Keeps On Giving Me Heartburn

Now that I'm making friends and socializing more in Small Town, it's nice to interact with people and say something other than "Get OUT of my parking space, FREAK SHOW!" (to my neighbors) or "Put your cell phones DOWN!" (to my students).

One thing about socializing, though, is that it can be expensive. Recently I was invited to a birthday party at the only fancy restaurant in Small Town. The birthday girl said that we didn't have to get her anything, but I knew that several other people would bring gifts. I didn't want to be the only person who showed up without a birthday gift. Not to mention I didn't have enough money for a meal at a fancy restaurant, especially considering how most of my meals consist of pasta, peanut butter sandwiches, or toast and scrambled eggs.

Due to the debt I accumulated from my move to Small Town, as well as student loans, car payments, rent, and other expenses, I just don't have enough money for an active social life sometimes. I know that you can't put a price on friendship, but you can put a price on gifts for those friends, like gifts for birthdays, weddings, baby showers, housewarming parties, etc., etc.

I don't tell this to Small Town Guy and his friends, because they've all been so nice and welcoming to me. But they all make a lot more money than I do, so I think it might be harder for them to relate to the fact that I can't afford a ticket to a play in the nearby big city that they want to go to, or a shopping spree at a mall in one of the other big cities (the closest thing that Small Town has to a mall is Walmart).

I could try giving them homemade gifts. But although I've gotten a little better at cooking, it's still difficult for me to bake anything without cringing immediately after I taste it. I can't sew or knit without accidentally poking myself (usually in the eye) with the needle.

It reminds me of that episode of Sex and the City, where Carrie Bradshaw had to spend a bunch of money on gifts for her married friends, but lamented over the fact that single people like her rarely received gifts for their own special occasions (the fact that they were single apparently meant they had fewer occasions to celebrate).

But here are a few of MY ideas for special occasions that single people like me would like presents for (I know it'll never happen, but still, it'd be nice):

A gift for all the times my mother tells me about all the women younger than me who are already married with children, and then she calls me a spinster or an old maid (one of the times she did this was when she called me on my thirtieth birthday).

A gift for all the bad dates I've been on, like the one with the guy who waited a month to call me after our first (and only) date, and then he got mad and insulted me when I made it clear that I was no longer interested.

A gift for all the hours I spent poring over online dating profiles, only to dismiss more than half of them because the guys my age made it clear in their profiles that they only wanted to date women who were at least ten (or fifteen) years younger.

A gift for all the messages on online dating sites that I received from guys who were twenty (or thirty, or, in one case, forty) years older than me.

A gift for all the times I had to tell my parents' friends that yes, I'm still single; no, I don't have a boyfriend right now; NO, I'm not a lesbian. (I WISH I was making that last one up.)

A gift for the time I sat next to a couple in a coffee shop who kept making out and calling each other cutesy names, and I resisted the urge to eat the croissants they were neglecting and/or throw those croissants at them.

It would be nice if single people got their own special day to celebrate being single, similar to how couples have Valentine's Day and anniversaries to celebrate their relationships. But we're not supposed to celebrate our single status; we're supposed to keep looking for love, or else be accused of being old maids or lesbians (as if there's something wrong with being either, which there isn't).

Oh, well. Either way, I am grateful to the people who have extended their offers of friendship to me, even if I have to occasionally decline their invitations to hang out. It's just too bad that I can't give a peanut butter sandwich as a gift.

What about you? Are there any occasions in your life that you wish you could get presents for? How do you deal with the costs of socializing?

Friends and Frenemies, Part 2

In college, I called one of my friends in tears because I had to get my wisdom teeth taken out the next day. She showed up the next day to take me to my appointment, even though I didn't ask her to. She stayed there the whole time, and then she took me out for smoothies.

Another friend was upset because I couldn't hang out with her that often, due to the fact that I had three jobs and worked seven days a week. She lived rent-free with her parents and didn't even have to pay for groceries while she went to graduate school.

Guess which person I'm still friends with?

I read an article recently (sorry, I can't remember the author) about how important it is to "show up" for your friends. What the author meant was that it's important to be there for your friends, not just for birthdays and weddings, but also when they need you. It really hit home for me, especially because of everything I've been going through lately. The suffering I've experienced because of my neurological disorder made me realize who my true friends are and who my frenemies are.

I have trouble holding on to friends. I used to blame myself entirely for this, because I'm a workaholic and I think and talk about work 90% of the time. (The rest of the time I think about food.) It doesn't help that I'm an introvert and prefer to do most things on my own. (My idea of hell is being forced to party with the cast of Jersey Shore every night.) Most of my friends couldn't understand that my workday didn't end at five o'clock like theirs did, and I didn't get weekends or summers off, not if I wanted to have money for food and rent.

I canceled outings with friends on more than one occasion due to my work schedule, even though I didn't want to. And one by one, most of them walked out of my life and stopped returning my calls. One of them remained in my life because we worked together, but she pointedly ignored me; I often had to repeat myself two or three times before she finally answered.

I am partly to blame for the loss of those friendships. I am a workaholic, and I always will be. That's something that's not going to change, especially because of the nature of my work and the fact that I have a Type A personality. But what I finally realized is that the people who walked out were partly to blame too.

I thought of the friend who didn't have time for me on my birthday, but threw a huge birthday party for one of her friends (I wasn't invited.). There was the friend who went on and on about his personal life, but said he was sick of hearing about my work. There were the people who made fun of me for being a teetotaler; they insisted on hanging out at bars (FYI: inviting a teetotaler to a bar is like inviting a vegetarian to a steakhouse) but never wanted to come with me to any of my favorite museums on free admission days or plays that sold cheap tickets. There was the friend who always said she was too busy to hang out with me, but had plenty of time for her other friends.

Remembering these things lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. For so long I'd castigated myself for devoting myself to my work instead of my friends. I thought that there had to be something wrong with me because I couldn't make lasting connections with them. I thought that if I had been a better and more interesting person, they'd still want to spend time with me. And in many ways, I think that's at least partly true. But on the other hand, if they had been better, more considerate people, we still would have been friends.

There are the people who say that they're for you, and then there are the people who will show up for you when you're feeling lost, sad, or scared. The people in the second group are the ones whose friendships I value, and they're the people that I strive to be like. The people in the first group are the reason that I think Facebook should have a "frenemies" list or a "people who I always fake smile with".

What about you? How do you deal with it when your friends don't show up for you? How do you show up for them?

Friday Night at the ER

It started with a whooshing sound in my right ear. It sounded like my heartbeat or like what you would hear during a sonogram. I heard it constantly, even when I was trying to sleep (which is why I hardly slept for weeks). When I sat next to other grad students at lectures, I was convinced that they could hear it, though they gave no signs that they did.

I went to the general practitioner that I normally go to. "It's just ear wax," he said. He cleaned out my ears, which was very painful. "The sound will go away in a few hours." It didn't.

He referred me to an ear doctor, who said that my eustachian tubes were stuffed up due to a minor cold I'd had. She made incisions in my ears to clear up the tubes (a procedure that was also very painful), and then my ears were in pain for several days afterwards. She said the sound would go away in a few weeks. It didn't.

Then my vision became impaired. It became a strain to watch TV, even if I was just sitting across the room. It was difficult sometimes to see everything outside without squinting. I thought it was the sunlight and that I needed to wear sunglasses. But one night I was walking around outside and I realized that the lights were blurry even then.

I also had headaches every day. I realized that it was time to see another doctor. This time I went to an optometrist at Lenscrafters for an eye exam. "This is what your eyes looked like last year," she said, showing me the pictures. "This is what your eyes look like now. You need to see a specialist right away."

That same day I went to a specialist who wasn't covered by my insurance. He charged me two hundred dollars for a ten minute consultation. He said that I needed to go to the emergency room right away, because there was something seriously wrong with my eyes. That was when I got scared.

That day I spent more than ten hours in the emergency room. I went there at 2:30 in the afternoon and didn't come out until almost one in the morning. I didn't get to eat lunch OR dinner. A kind nurse felt sorry for me and offered me some graham crackers and juice, but the doctors wouldn't let me have any; they said I had to keep my stomach empty in case I had to undergo more procedures and take more medication.

There was a lot of waiting (and freaking out, on my part) at the ER. I was freaking out because at first I couldn't get a straight answer from the many doctors that I talked to on what was wrong with me. They did another eye exam. Then they did an MRI, because at first they thought I had a brain tumor. For the MRI, they put my body in a noisy machine, where I wasn't allowed to move for an hour. I lay there the whole time, terrified.

It turns out I don't have a brain tumor, but I do have a neurological disorder. I'd rather not say what it is, but I will say that it is the cause of the whooshing sound in my ear, the impaired vision, and the headaches. It's also not a psychological problem; it's physical. The doctors did a spinal tap, meaning they put a large needle in my spine and drained fluid out of me; it was very painful (I now think of September 2014 as the Month of Painful Medical Procedures).

They prescribed me some medication, which comes with several side effects. One side effect is that my feet feel like they're falling asleep all the time. Another side effect is that soda is tasteless to me now (which SUCKS, because I love Coke). Another side effect is that it makes me tired all the time, which means I can't get a lot of work done (did I mention I have to make a huge presentation to my department next month, and my job applications are due soon)?

I left a message for one friend that I had to go to the hospital. This "friend" never responded. I left another message for another friend, who didn't respond until several days later because she was "busy" with her other friends. I managed to text a third friend, who disappeared for a long time in the middle of our conversation and then immediately changed the subject of my health to something else. With friends like these, who needs enemies? I won't be calling them again. Ever.

I even Tweeted about what was happening to me. No one Tweeted a response. Celebrities can Tweet one word, like "Uh" or "What" and get a hundred responses from fans. I Tweeted about being in the ER and being sick, and no one asked if I was okay.

My father said that I brought my neurological disorder on myself and that I am to blame  because I am so neurotic (which contradicts everything the doctors said. They said that my disorder is very rare and happens to otherwise young, healthy women.). He said I must have worked myself up into a frenzy and that's why there's something wrong with my brain now. He argued with the ER doctors over the phone and forbade me from getting a spinal tap because of the risks involved. I told him that I am a thirty-three year old adult and that my decisions are MINE, not his.

My mother was very upset with me too, and she called several times to let me know how angry she was at me. The only people who showed me any compassion were two of my professors, who I had to tell because I wasn't able to meet all of their deadlines due to the fact that I was seeing more than a dozen doctors and was in and out of the hospital for more than a month.

Right now I'm feeling sad, scared, alone, and lost. The doctors are optimistic that the medication will work. BUT if it doesn't, I may need brain surgery. If THAT doesn't work, I may go permanently blind. If I wasn't neurotic BEFORE...

What about you? Have you ever dealt with something like this? How did you deal with it?

Breaking Up With Friends

After I graduated from college, a girl I had been friends with for four years stopped returning my phone calls. I later found out from a mutual friend that she moved to New York. I was hurt that she didn't want to be my friend anymore, but I accepted it and didn't try to contact her again.

Last year, I befriended a young woman my age who lived in my neighborhood. We were friends until she got a boyfriend. Then all of a sudden she was no longer able to hang out, because she was always spending time with him. I still see her from time to time, and she likes to talk on and on about how well things are going with her boyfriend. She never mentions how she ignored my e-mailed invitations to hang out or how she dropped me the minute she found someone.

It's often awkward and painful when friendships end, especially when you're the one who gets dropped as a friend. I usually don't get an explanation for why the relationship ended, and I don't ask for one; I am afraid that I'll either get a list of excuses or a list of reasons why that person doesn't like me anymore. I figure it's better to just take the hint and move on.

It's even more difficult when you're the one who wants to end the friendship. That's a problem that I'm dealing with right now. I was friends with this girl for years. But now it feels like we don't have much in common anymore. I don't approve of some of the choices she made, and it's hard for me to listen to her talk about them. I tried to give her constructive criticism once or twice, but she didn't listen.

She is also similar to many people in my life who don't understand that my day doesn't end at five P.M., and I'm not free every weekend. Many people believe that college teachers have it easy: we only have to teach a few times a week, and we have the rest of the day free and summers off. They don't know that untenured college teachers often have to work through the summer, because we don't earn enough during the school year to live on. I may just spend a few hours in the classroom, but I still have appointments with students, e-mails to respond to, lesson plans to make, papers to grade, and department meetings to attend. Not to mention I have my website job and my dissertation to work on.

This person has always expected me to spend more time with her than I'm able to, even when I explained that I had to work. I finally realized that I didn't enjoy her company anymore; it felt like we were having the same conversation over and over again. I could no longer tolerate certain things about her that had bothered me for years.

I didn't want to hurt her feelings, so I didn't come right out and say why I no longer wanted to be friends. I just stopped calling. I didn't call her for months, but then she started calling and e-mailing me. I told her that I couldn't hang out anymore because I was busy with work and school, which was true. But she kept insisting that I set aside time for her. I finally told her that one reason I didn't want to hang out was because of certain things she kept doing, though I tried to be tactful about it.

For a while she stopped calling. But now, months later, she's e-mailing me again, and it infuriates me that she won't leave me alone. When former friends stopped returning my messages, it didn't take me that long to get the hint. I didn't keep contacting them, as this person has done.

When you break up with someone you've been dating, only in the worst scenarios does that person keep contacting you. And at least when you exit a romantic relationship, you can tell that person that you just don't feel that way anymore, or that you want to see other people. But I don't know the best way to break up with a friend. I feel like I can't say, "I just don't enjoy your company anymore."

I haven't returned any of her messages. I'm afraid that if I do I'll blow up at her and tell her what I think of her, once and for all. And even then I'm afraid that she still won't get it and will keep pressuring me to be her friend. But I don't WANT to, and I don't appreciate being made to feel like I HAVE to. You'd think after two years she'd have gotten the message.

Have you ever been in this situation? Have you ever ended a friendship before? How do you deal with it when people want to be your friend, but the feeling isn't mutual?