It’s Always All About Me

When my friend and I converse, I now have this annoying habit of turning the conversation around to me.

“It’s always about you,” she stated once which only baited me to continue doing this. I’ve a problem with being told I can’t do something. Perversely, I make it a habit and go the full distance.

When I don’t feel well which is often, she calls me, “Eeyore,” from Winnie the Pooh. That’s because feeling ill, especially the weirdo diseases that I have, gets me depressed.

“Eeyore,” she states while laughing at me, “Poor Eeyore. Nothing works, nothing is good. Woe is me. The sky is falling."

I crack up, my good humor restored.

My friend’s usually goodnatured and laid-back which is terrific for I’m the opposite. Only recently I had a severe bout of vertigo that lasted nearly two months. “I can tell you’re really sick because you were real quiet,” she said and then admitted, “you kinda scared me there.”

I may be an Eeyore, but I’m rarely quiet. My silence alone must’ve petrified her. I try hard at putting up a happy face even when I feel like withering away. She can tell I’m suffering when I don’t want to speak.

Still and all, she does blame me for believing everything’s about me.

Over the past two weeks, she has met with her attorney over a lawsuit levied against her. Even though the lawsuit is bogus, it does cost money to get representation. Instead of representing her, her attorney threw me in the mix with: “Tell your friend not to blog about the plaintiff otherwise things’ll get worse for you.”

“I don’t write the blogs, I don’t even read them. This is her livelihood! If they have an issue, tell them to go to her!” stated my friend to deaf ears. “Besides, it’s fiction! Social satire!"

After spending a full day undergoing a battery of tests at the Westchester Medical Center, I received the bad news that this severe vertigo is progressive and debilitating. Only an MRI will determine whether I’ve a tumor, scheduled two weeks in the future. Discovering that I’m an unrelated third party in a lawsuit didn’t help my stress levels any and contributed to another vertigo attack.

“What do I have to do with your lawsuit?” I asked.

“Nothing... except the plaintiff believes you blog about her.”

As mom used to say, “If the shoe fits.” If the plaintiff believes my fictional blogs are about her, well, that must be an admission of guilt.

I didn’t like the threat to my friend nor being used as a weapon. My friend doesn’t like the situation either and defended me. The second time they brought it up (they as in the plaintiff’s pro bono lawyer and my friend’s lawyer) there was an implicit threat to my friend. Namely, if I continue to blog, her life will be ruined.

When she told me, I agreed to back off. Upon reflection, I realized that those lawyers can go fuck themselves. If they intend to fuck my friend over, don’t use me as the excuse. I’m nobody’s beard.

Today we discussed an up-coming concert festival. Since my brain doesn’t understand music anymore and sound is too much for me to bear, I can’t attend the concerts. However, I may go with her and my other girlfriend to special performance functions where it’s supposed to be quiet.

In the middle of her conversation with someone else, I burst out with, “I want to go to the meditation center!”

She rolled her eyes and said, “It’s not always about you, Maura.”

“Bullshit,” I responded. “You’re being sued and all the attorneys can do is talk about me and use me as a fulcrum to destroy you.”

Case proven.

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