Atonality

I think about things. A LOT. Analysis is my jam. Most of the time, I can channel that for good. Sometimes, it’s a crippling exercise in self-doubt and wondering about worth. Worth of self, worth of relationships, worth of material things, worth of experiences. 

I indelicately went on a diatribe that felt a lot like a lecture last week. A good friend shot a non sequitur at me after not having spoken (or in this case typed) for a few days. Being the emotionally-driven person I am, I read a whole lot into that without having any real reason to. And I responded pretty passive-aggressively as a result. What followed was a rather lengthy exchange of ideas and feelings, and some careful phrasing. Crisis (mostly) averted.

But this is the problem with typing to someone all the time. You can’t see their face while they’re writing. Or know what’s going on around them, who’s asking them for an inconvenient favor or what minor emergencies have created their current mindset. You can’t see their lip curl up in a smirk if they’re about to add an emoji or “LOL” on after the fact. You can’t detect furious fingers pounding out a message if they’re angry, upset, overly happy or feeling manic. Volume, pitch and speed are non-existent. Atonal typing is your frenemy.

Maybe it’s the distance I feel growing. Maybe it’s the changing of the seasons. Maybe it’s the fact that I miss this person’s face. Maybe it’s all of those things, or maybe it’s none of them. Ambiguity is uprising. Even though I fight it.