2003-04-28 - 7:16 p.m.
Matters of decorum
I crossed a line today. I feel horrible about it. I tried to be funny with a friend, and it backfired. It offended him instead. I feel so unbelievably bad about it—I’m embarrassed, mostly, but I also feel foolish and stupid and horrible. He was pretty harsh about telling me, too, but no more harsh than I deserved. I apologized, then he apologized for being harsh, then I apologized again. I want to crawl into a hole. My instinct now is never to email him or speak to him again.
People do stuff like this all the time, right? They cross lines unwittingly and without malice. They fight. They argue. They bother other people. But amends are made and all is supposed to be to be fine after an initial cooling-off period, right? Well, it’s not.
It’s ingrained in me to be angry with myself, and ashamed of myself, when I misstep. I’m not supposed to make emotional mistakes. I’m not supposed to make any mistakes. I’m supposed to tread lightly or, more importantly, correctly around people so I don’t offend them or make them think ill of me. I was taught that at a very early age by my father. If I said or did anything “out of line”, I was sent up to my room, where he would later join me and scream at me, often for over an hour. I once told my stepmother to “chill”, and I was treated to a 2-hour lecture. I was eleven. I used to sit there and cry, often hysterically, until he stopped. I wasn’t allowed to say anything. All I was supposed to do was sit there and take it.
To this day, no one can speak critically to me without me bursting into tears. It’s gotten better lately, but there’s a certain kind of criticism that I simply can’t physically bear. If anyone ever says to me, “Come over here, I want to talk to you,” I immediately turn into a quivering mass of 12-year-old jelly. It’s horrible. I thought I’d made such strides, but I guess I haven’t. It’s especially bad when men do that, for somewhat obvious reasons.
So I try to overcome it by not getting into that position. I’m a diplomat. I agree with everything anyone says. I will often bend my opinions for the sake of conversation so that no one will disapprove of me. I try to be nice and funny and charming, because I can’t bear it if someone doesn’t like me. I can dislike someone, sure, but I have to do it first-- I have to be in control. It’s one of my greatest weaknesses, and I’m ashamed of it.
I don’t know what the repercussions of today will be. He might never speak to me again. I might never speak to him again, either—G-d knows I’m too embarrassed to do it right now. I feel like a heel. This person’s respect means a lot to me, and I feel like I’ve lost it. The worst part is, I brought this on myself by giving him that much power. I’ve been doing that to myself ever since I could remember, and it sucks. I always feel like I’m in the wrong, and consequently I make other people feel worse. Or they get exasperated with me, which of course I can’t stand. So now I feel like I suck. I truly, truly do. I feel like I failed someone in a huge way.
* * *
I wasn’t planning to write this entry about my own personal suckitude. I was planning to write it about chorus bitches. So I will.
Yesterday, my chorus did a big concert—the Verdi Requiem. It was seriously crowded on the risers, and the piece itself is about 2 hours long, including pauses and applause. We did a pretty good job, I thought. We made a HUGE mistake, but no one would have noticed if my conductor hadn’t snapped his fingers at us. Besides, we all made that mistake together. The orchestra was good, too. Most of the soloists were good, but the soprano? Eek. She missed entrances. She mispronounced words. She hit sour high notes.
But the chorus. Ugh. I’m so pissed I could strangle some of the people in it. When the soprano hit a nasty B-flat, a buzz went through the CHORUS. Come on, people! We’re performing! And then there was the bitch behind me who wouldn’t move her damn folder. I kept moving to the left to get away from that folder, and it still managed to graze my ear throughout the whole piece. Ugh. It takes two, people—if someone’s folder is on your head, move. If your folder is on someone’s head, hold it as close to you as possible! I accidentally grazed the head of the girl in front of me, but I tried not to—and she had put sticks in her hair between warm-up and performance! Eek.
But then. THEN. As soon as the conductor put the baton down and the applause started, the commentary began full blast. A group of three women behind me started talking, LOUDLY, about the concert and our mistake and how we sounded, etc. If it had been appropriate, I would have turned around and hit them. They’re in their sixties! What kind of fucking IDIOT do you have to be to discuss a concert while people can see you?!?! You’re supposed to stand there, smile and appreciate the applause, THEN you can talk. I was LIVID. I found the associate conductor as soon as I could (after the concert was over, thank you very much) and asked her to address it at the next rehearsal. Flippin’ bitches. I also told anyone who would listen about my disapproval. That makes me a chorus queen, but I don’t care. I can’t stand rudeness like that. Decorum is important in a concert. They’ve been singing for about 30 years each, so they should know better.
Ugh. So, those are the thoughts of the day. I need a drink.
