Thoughts of a Nobody

The reason I hesitate to blog these days is that my mind swarms with a million and one little things… I don’t know that I can put them all into one coherent blog post. And in a way I’m not sure I can express them well; I seem to turn a perfectly good thought into something half-hearted and nonsensical.

A while ago I blogged that Middlemarch by George Eliot was one of the classics I felt guilty about not reading, so I made a point of starting it one day. I only got halfway through. But it wasn’t because I didn’t like it; I was quite curious about what going to happen next. The problem was this: I looked at the condition of the paperback itself (an old second-hand one)… and didn’t want to touch it any more!

That was several months ago.

My sister gave me a Kindle e-reader for Christmas, and it hasn’t left my side! I love it. I have downloaded a lot of old ‘freebie’ classics, and also bought 99p bargains from the 12-day Kindle Sale on Amazon (over now). I finished Little Lord Fauntleroy today, and was about to start one of the others… then I thought “what about Middlemarch?” I downloaded that free from Amazon and have begun again from the beginning.

It has American spellings, but I can live with that for now… at least I am able to highlight things. I have got so used to highlighting all the bits I like that I find myself reaching for the ‘highlight’ button even when I’m not on the Kindle! If you say something pithy in an email, I want to highlight it and keep if forever in my clippings. (Not that I can — I don’t get emails on the Kindle!)

I have no previous experience of George Eliot, as I have read absolutely nothing else of hers… and in a way I wasn’t expecting much. I figured the books might be very dry, and possibly a bit depressing, and that’s about it. But the highlight button got into top gear from the first page of Middlemarch. Some of it seems to express how I feel… the blundering through life, unable to turn your ideas (or ideals) into any kind of material shape. Perhaps this is how women in particular felt back then, but it’s a feeling that hasn’t gone away.

Sometimes when there’s a lot going on inside my head, my blog seems the place to visit, but I worry that would be a mistake. You wonder why anyone would want to know what you think about things. If they have the same ideas already, they will not be impressed; if they have different ideas, it might be because they know better. Though I love to see my ideas out here, already expressed by others… that makes me feel that we are all the same underneath. Even if, in general, you can’t make people out, it is reassuring to discover (through some medium or other) that they have the same experiences and concerns.

It turns life into a Comedy of Errors, I think… if we are so cut off from each other that we think we are the only ones to feel stupid or scared, make mistakes or come across the wrong way, life swings towards Tragedy. Nothing is more frightening than aloneness.

This is why we like books; we can make contact…. get a glimpse of someone else’s thoughts without being kept at arm’s length by all the “hello, nice day!” stuff. Small chat can be draining in a way that a good pithy book is not.

The concept of ‘following’ another person’s Kindle highlights and notes bemused me… but after thinking about the above, it makes some sense. After completing a book, I look to see if others have highlighted the same bits that I did. I got the feeling that a lot of people, after an enthusiastic start, went to sleep in the middle of Diary of a Nobody… but they woke up towards the end.

Sympathy and Snoopery

I enjoyed Andrea’s blog post You just don’t get it. I seem to respond that way to people’s stories… recently a friend was talking about a parent who died, and so I talked about my parent who died. I remembered the darkness of those days and could share that with her, even though I didn’t know her father. In any case, it seemed better to express myself as “I’m with you” rather than “I’m looking at you from a distance and I’m sorry for you.”

My friend (who has always been chatty) seemed OK with it, but not everyone would want such a response, perhaps.

I realize (from reading around) that people sometimes wonder why a friend always brings the conversation back to him/herself. In some cases that friend is more interested in talking than listening, but in other cases that friend has listened and is using this method to say “I’ve been in your boat and have felt that same muddy water swirling round my ankles. You’re not alone.”

Sometimes I have a problem not unrelated; if I’m telling someone about my day, I’m happy if they reciprocate and tell me about theirs. I feel awkward sometimes about saying “well, what about you?” in case they don’t really want to discuss it. Someone I know gets irritated when one of her friends starts a phonecall with “well, did you have a nice day? Why not? What went wrong?” Her reaction is “I only want to tell you about it if I decide that myself.”

I like to be told about friends’ experiences… but I don’t want to come across as nosy or irritating, so I tell my own stories. Some of my friends seem to understand that my story is just half of the exchange, but others haven’t a clue about it. Some even take it as a request for advice, which can be infuriating!

Just a few days ago, I was reading Intensity by Dean Koontz. In the first few pages are two close friends (female students) chatting, and when one asked a personal question, the other laughingly called it ‘snoopery’. The first friend said she was dodging the question, and the second friend finally answered. I found myself thinking that the first friend, by insisting on a reply, had more courage than I have these days, but then I used to have that kind of friendship with Honey… I would say we were more like sisters, only I don’t know how many sisters have a relationship so relaxed.

It left me wondering what friendship means; if it means different things to different people; how much we are allowed to ask questions or be involved in another person’s life, and which questions we are allowed to ask? If email is seen as a ‘non’ way to talk, just as internet friends aren’t viewed as real? And why one person might be quite secretive about nothing at all, and another person is open about all sorts of things.

I suppose I’ve wandered away from the starting topic, but I enjoyed Andrea’s post because she put into words this thing… how people try to connect in different ways, and don’t always recognize those differences.