What the hell is this?

I Can't Stand [Meeting] You is a collection of all the ridiculous things I've written to and about drummer and composer Stewart Copeland.

I actually did meet him for about five crazy seconds in 2007, again for a few exciting moments in August 2009, and my most recent (and most thrilling!) encounter took place in October 2009, where I proved myself capable of being, yet again, a total dork in the man's presence.

I can't believe what I get up to. And neither should you.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Dear Stewart,

The other day I was talking, in vague terms, with a friend about another friend who has stopped returning my calls. Something's obviously going on with this other friend and me, but I didn't want to burden my friend with whom I was talking with all the gory stupid details. She was great, though, even with minimal material to work with, and she reminded me that sometimes the way people act has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with them.

This is not the first time I have heard this.

It sounds logical, doesn't it? I mean, accepting this particular little truth lets you stop worrying that you've done something heinous. It gives you permission to stop worrying about that person being mad at you or whatever, and to move on. That sounds good, doesn't it? It sounds great to me, but unfortunately I have never, ever been able to do it.

It would take a great deal more personal confidence than I will ever have to be able to say, "So-and-so is going through something right now, and though in my opinion their behavior toward me screams 'asshole,' I will not take it personally." The situation this time is rife with past misundrstandings and unmet expectations (mine). I'm pretty confused. And, I'm sorry to say, I'm starting to get pissed off.

It's a nice idea, that I might be able to turn away and go off to do and think about something else, and I'm full of admiration for people who possess the self-respect and maturity to that, but right now I'm just not feeling capable of that kind of high-mindedness.

Once I've reached this point of not understanding what's going on, I start to get mad. Even though I know this is the moment where delicacy is required - this is usually when I stomp all over the idea of being patient. This is when the words "fuck it" are in my mind, and this is when I panic, and when I ruin everything, because even though "fuck it" sounds brave and ready to not care anymore, the thing is, "fuck it" cares, and cares a lot. "Fuck it" is afraid that you no longer care and "fuck it" needs to be the first one to walk away. "Fuck it" is the "look at me" version of going off to do and think about something else. It's the worst possible thing I could do, and as of the time this letter to you is posted, it's already been done, and now? Now I don't know if (a) my childish act of rebellion has even been noticed, and (b) if I'm willing to back "fuck it" up with the necessary act of going away and doing and thinking about something else, which, if I'd just done in the first place, quietly, this whole thing would've probably blown over.

How do you handle things like this? By now I suspect you've seen and done everything. I bet your feelings aren't easily hurt. I bet your friends are open and honest with you, and that you're open and honest with them. That none of your friends would treat you this way? The thing is, I feel a bit bad now, like I've let this friend down by not being better at taking their shit, which I think is pretty ironic, as I have never previously said "no" to this person throughout our entire relationship.

One day, Stewart, maybe you and I will sit down and talk. And that day you will learn the secret behind this little blog of mine, which might already be clear, or starting to be clear. Until then, thanks for listening.

Love you,
Irene

2 comments:

dufmanno said...

I'm sure the Cope has had his share of confrontation over the years. I heard he has quite the surly cocky side. Just look at the brotherly jockying (is that even a word?) that he and Sting have been doing for an eternity. Would you keel over if you found out he had been reading all along?

Irene said...

I would keel over, become flushed and embarrassed, and probably squeal or make some other goofy sound. So: yeah. Then again... so what if he is? I love you, Stewart!