NOTE: THERE MAY BE A WEE BIT OF SARCASM IN ONE OR MORE OF THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPHS. YOU HAVE BEEN DULY WARNED.
I am feeling a *smidge* smoky (watch me smoulder!), heatedly angry, mega worn out, and a whole lot irritated.
I called the cafe where I was supposed to do my poetry reading on Friday night and spoke with the cafe manager. He actually said, "We never got a confirmation from you, so I cancelled the event" with a note of snarkiness in his voice that suggested I was unprofessional and hadn't bothered to return the man's phone calls.
Now wait just a goddamned minute.
I spoke to the event organizer on the phone. I sent him my bio and my photograph via email. I sent the organizer a follow-up email AND called him and somehow none of my efforts made a dent in anyone's consciousness. Apparently the cafe manager knew my bio had come through but didn't know if I had confirmed the reading. (What? Don't you think receiving my bio, my picture, and my nice note about looking forward to the reading equaled the "yes" I gave to the organizer over the phone?) Here's a hint, dude. If you're not sure about my commitment to the event, pick up the phone. It's a handy device, really, and some of them are no bigger than a business card. They slide into attache cases, pants pockets, and purses quite easily. In fact, lots of purses even have pockets specially made for phones! Okay, so you're probably not carrying a purse and I'm launching into a tirade about accessories, but let me just say this: Don't you EVER get semi-snarky with me on the phone again. YOUR organizer dropped the ball. YOUR organizer can't bother to return an email or a phone call.
YOUR organizer is probably trapped under a large piece of furniture and is still waiting for someone to discover him. I imagine his cell phone is lying just out of his reach and he's thinking, "Man, this armoire is heavy and I should really call that poet grrl back. She might like to know that she really ISN'T invisible even though my lack of communication has led her to believe otherwise. As soon as I get out from underneath this lovely piece of furniture, I'll be sure to give her a ring."
I'm feeling especially raw this week because plans have cancelled and communication from others has faltered miserably. I'm feeling a lot unpopular and beginning to wonder if I smell funny and everyone is too polite (or scared) to say anything. It's been a fucked-up week that has triggered my last relationship, which was with a woman who didn't communicate very well -- or at all, basically. Case in point: For the better part of our relationship, which lasted four months (pretty good considering I knew we should break up 30 days into it), I called her "boo." It's a term of endearment and it made me smile and I thought she liked it. Turns out she hated it. Every time the B-word slipped from my lips, she apparently cringed. Ring ring, clue phone: If you tell me you don't like it, I'll STOP. I'm sick of people who can't JUST FUCKING TELL ME what's wrong, or that a poetry reading is cancelled, or that they'd prefer I call them 'snookie' instead of 'boo.' Just. Tell. Me. I'll be a lot less angry later if you clue me in now, I'm just saying.
The cafe manager has my phone number and yet couldn't call. Don't you think you might start working down the chain of communication if you hadn't been able to get in touch with the person who was organizing your poetry event? Don't you think you might take matters into your own hands and go ahead and make that 30-second call, just to make sure everyone was on the same page? What would've happened on Friday if I would have shown up with my chapbooks and CDs and a few friends, all ready to hunker down with some poetry? What would've happened if I hadn't called the cafe to check on the reading, or looked at the cafe's online calendar only to find the event listed nowhere on the site? I guess I would've just walked right back out of the cafe and gone on to do something else, feeling remarkably slighted. I started to say "...feeling remarkably stupid," but I don't think that's how I would have felt. I'm not stupid because some dick can't figure out how to pick up a phone or write an email.
I'm glad I called the cafe to confirm the now-non-existent reading. I know I'm harping on this, but I have felt invisible this week for a few different reasons and I am OVER IT. I'm having a very Glenn-Close-in-"Fatal Attraction"-moment when she says, "I'm not going to be ignored, Dan." It's not the week to think you're being funny and continue to tease me when I am not smiling and I have my arms crossed over my chest. It's not the week to assume I'm psychic and that I know poetry readings have cancelled. I had plans for four nights this week and so far, three of them have cancelled. The good news is that I've turned my unexpected free time into something productive and I've sorted laundry and done dishes and painted and talked on the phone and not binged (which I used to do A LOT when I was upset), so yay for me. I did try to get a little drunk last night, but my heart wasn't really in it, so I only had about half a glass of wine. I've watched Deal or No Deal. I've gone to bed early. I've taken candlelight showers. I've processed a lot of emotion with friends and by myself. I am drained, people. D-r-a-i-n-e-d. Friday can't get here soon enough. I'm not expecting to magically feel better about this week once Saturday arrives, but at this this goddess-forsaken week will be OVER.
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