Nonsense!

In a world primarily focussed on binary opposites it is understood that the contradictory position of sense is nonsense.

Nonsense is meaningless gibberish (isn't it?) – whether communicated in words or signs. This leads to incoherence (doesn't it?). Just look at how Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland progress and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

There are times when all that once seemed sensible and logical no longer appears that way. It all becomes nonsense.

This is a great opportunity to use your imagination; to see things another way. It’s a risk, that’s true, but it’s one that is worth taking I think.

Imagination hold so many possibilities – ask any child at play, they’ll show you how. What at first seems like nonsense may highlight certain previously undiscovered ideas. I plan to embrace nonsense!

“I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, It's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, And that enables you to laugh at life's realities.”

Theodore Seuss Geisel (Dr Seuss)

In plain sight

I had to have blood taken today, but when the nurse called me I remained seated. Luckily she did not remember me, although I remembered her all too well from my Maroon Day last year when she was less than focused on the situation.

It is because of this that I specifically asked to see another nurse this morning.

I named the one I did not want to see, and the reasons why. The Dr laughed and said that he had to remain professional but he could see that there were possible reasons why many people didn’t want that particular nurse.

I was glad.

So when I turned up this morning I was pleased to book myself in with the correct nurse.

That’s when it all went wrong.

My nurse, a kindly and gentle woman, was being called on by this other nurse to help her with patients and then, for me, disaster struck. Nurse W (my selected practitioner) began to run late with her appointments. I was in the waiting room for nearly an hour before I first heard my name being called.

Instead of rising to my feet I looked downwards and ignored the call.

It’s a strange sensation hearing your name being called and totally ignoring it. I knew that it was me, and not some other Marjorie Morgan, that was being summoned, but it was Nurse X who was striding across the waiting room yelling out my name.

As I sat there, trying not to draw attention to myself, I noticed other patients looking around. I think I was more obvious than invisible because I realise now that I was the only one not looking around for this mysterious Marjorie Morgan: I knew where I was.

Nurse X went back to Nurse W and from down the corridor I could hear her saying, “The patient you asked me to see ... I’ve called her, but she’s not here. Have you already seen her? That’s strange. I’ll ask the other nurses.” From the one-sided conversation I knew they couldn’t understand where I was. Yet, I stayed still.

I hadn’t yet decided how I was going to announce my presence to the receptionist again, but I knew I was not going in to see Nurse X and so I sat and listened to the search for me.

“I’ll call her once more,” said Nurse X as she came back to the door of the waiting room.

“Marjorie Morgan!” she bellowed. Heads all seemed to turn towards me. No movement. I stared straight ahead. “Well,” Nurse X exclaimed, “that’s strange. I’ll just get the next patient. John Smith?”

As the door closed behind them both I got ready to get up and go to the desk. I knew the other patients would find this a strange situation but I didn’t care. However, I was saved from that move because at that moment Nurse W came to the door with the Dr laughing behind her, “Marjorie”, she said as she looked at me.

“Yes,” I replied as I walked towards her smiling face.

“The Dr just told me the story. Sorry for the wait. Could you just sit here while I finish with another patient?”

I sat outside her consulting room as she dealt with another of Nurse X’s patients and waited some more. I didn’t mind waiting. I just was determined not to see the giver of pain that day.

Nurse W said later that she would say I was in the toilet or something. I said I’d rather she didn’t lie for me, but I knew that it could be professionally sensitive for the other nurse (and the rest of the staff team) if she knew the real reason for my refusal to see her.

With numerous vials of blood drawn I walked back through the waiting room and met several glances of curiosity that were dying to know why I was in plain sight (and hearing) but refused to answer Nurse X’s call.

They may never know until they, like me and several other patients, experience the rough and unforgettable treatment at the hands of Nurse X.

I’ve never done that before. Been in plain sight and purposely hidden. It felt odd. But I was protecting myself, so that felt right.

Reluctant couch potato

I am not a gym bunny but throughout the years I have sashayed between fat and fit (it’s true .... look at my pictures) but this recent enforced down time is no fun at all. I don’t want to watch TV, I couldn’t read, and I ached incessantly (not from any pleasurable activity ... that’s another story all together). Therefore I’m complaining about this time I have to spend sitting and lying about.

I don’t want to run anywhere either, but I’d like to walk around again without feeling like I need a stick to hold my jelly-like legs up (despite my best efforts I have jelly thighs legs for two reasons: lack of focussed exercise and this stupid bug!)

Years ago, when trying on some clothes in the changing room, a niece turned to me and said, in all innocence, 

“Aunt, I don’t know why you don’t like swimming. You could use your legs as floats!” My other sister fell about laughing but even that wasn’t enough to get me doing the necessary leg lifts.

So, here I sit (or lie) with my jelly thighs wishing I could walk without the fever moving my head around like I’m in a snow globe, or the wobble that has inhabited my frame attempting to push my body in different directions to the ones my mind wants to go. I feel as if I’ve got sea-legs without the journey anywhere.

All I can realistically do is to follow the Doctor’s instruction and sit still for hours each day.

I wonder how couch potatoes manage it all the time?

Maybe I just can’t hack it anymore because I have a sofa and not a couch. Just wondering ...

Focus through tears and touch

Certain days make you focus on the important things in life. Today was one of those days.

There are times when you become linked to people you do not know through people you know and love. 

Introductions can be difficult at the best of times but in some circumstances it’s best to remain silent. 

Sometimes, like today, the only communication is done through tears and touch.

It may not be physical – either the tears or the touch, but however you make the communication show it brings life into sharp focus.

Today I should have been in bed. I was so ill, but I needed to be elsewhere. I awoke early and got ready slowly – I have been lacking speed in the recent week due to sickness. Once ready I steeled myself for the hours ahead. No matter how hard it was for me, my physical and emotional pain would be like a drop in the ocean for the people burying their dear relative that morning.

Funerals have a way of bringing life and relationships into sharp focus.

Right there before the coffin I became a part of group of people whose truths of love and life were brought sharply into focus as if placed under a giant microscope.

Saying goodbye is hard. Showing you care can be hard, but sometimes you just have to find that way to focus that emotion so the recipient may know ... one day.

Not invited and blissfully happy

By now you’ll have realised that I am a tad quirky and I have several encounters that I consider strange. Lord alone knows what many of you think about them ...

But, here is another one.

I was not invited to an event. I went. I had a wonderful time. The hosts were more than happy for me to be there ... seriously.

This is why ...

A birthday party was arranged. Guests were invited and the venue was prepared. I knew all about it, so I went along at the time that I knew it would start.

Hours later, after much fun, laughter, dancing, singing and playing had taken place, I left.

The following day I received a series of phone calls from the hosts, they were thanking me for being there, 

for their son’s first birthday party. I smiled and thanked them for the invitation and started to explain that I had had a great time.

They stopped me and said, “You weren’t invited ...” I didn’t know what was coming next but the laughter in the voice told me it was nothing to be ashamed of, “You don’t need to be invited,” the baby’s mother continued. “You are the same as us, you are family, we are one.” I laughed again and thanked her, but she hadn’t finished, “We will never invite you to anything as this is your home as well, you can come and go as you please. You helped us to plan it, without you it would not have been such a great success. You always make things wonderful. You play such a big part in our lives. We are one, sister, we are one!”

So, there you have it. I was not invited to an event. I went. I had a wonderful time.

Stolen identity

Every now and then I get incensed. You may have noticed it.

This time it is not just for me. I know I am often wronged, but in the main I can deal with those injustices, this time I am deeply unsettle (to put it mildly) because of the insidious creeping strategy to steal young people’s identity and disenfranchise and disenchant them with one foul swoop.

How is this done? To whom is it done?

I believe this crime is committed at school, in the shops, on the street, in youth clubs, and in homes across the country.

While in primary school, children usually retain a sense of belief in equality; they are all the same, they play together, eat lunch together and learn together.

When they are fed into the secondary school system it all changes. Many of the staff that deliver the lessons fail all the pupils because they cannot deliver information that they do not believe it. This machine of dictated and organised thinking has a fixed, out-dated model of Britain and it is devastating lives every day. The damage done at school continues throughout life. Meritocracy as an ideal is debunked at every turn, in most subjects across the spectrum. Divisions and disadvantage are taught in a formal manner and take root, like concrete boots.  

I’m talking about English, Scottish, Welsh and Irish people: British people. These British people, like me, are home but are still treated as foreigners.

When I worked in the computing and banking industries my CVs often when ahead of my interviews. There were many occasions when the interviewers – without disguise – said, in total shock, “But ... you’re black! From your CV I thought ...” I got used to it, however, the painfulness of the blows left deep marks especially as despite my outstanding qualifications and experience I didn’t get the positions I went for.

Nowadays the scenarios are being repeated, with subtle tuning changes. Some young people are told that they can’t be English because their skin colour is not white: the perpetrators of these lies (teachers and other pupils) are infrequently and ineffectively challenged. The children whose identity has been attacked are now in a state of flux. They have been taught to believe all they hear at school. Can this be right, they don’t belong here? If that is true where do they belong?

This is particularly true for those children with a mixed cultural heritage, if they try to align themselves to people darker than them they are told, “You’re not black enough”. If they try to align themselves with people lighter than them they are told, “You’re too black.”

They will eventually make their own tribe and fashion their own uniquely British identity and woe betide anyone who stands in their way. When you deny a person their identity and remove it by stealth you will be faced with uncontrollable fury.

Self identification and alignment is at the root of most wars and always comes with a heavy price – especially civil wars.

It is time all British people accepted that there is black in the Union Jack!

Sometimes I am a sheep ...

It’s getting cold and nobody likes to be standing outside longer than necessary, so I don’t quite understand how the following scenario happened – especially as I am a person who is none too fond of the cold.

I went to the cash point at the rear of the store, there were two machines but people were snaking behind just one of them. I joined them.

I stood there looking at ... nothing in particular while moving from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm - in the way that queue members do. The people at the head of the queue seemed to be taking an exceptionally long time at the machine. I looked over to the other one, there wasn’t a sign on it saying it wasn’t working, but I still stayed where I was.

Then we moved forwards. I was still cold and as I moved closed I peered even more at the other machine. I still couldn’t see any sign (as if I thought it would materialise as I got closer!).

Other people came and joined the queue.

The man who was behind me cleared his throat and spoke, I looked around at him. “Is the other machine not working?” he asked. The question in my mind was voiced.

I laughed as I said to him, “I don’t know. I’m just a sheep! I saw the queue and joined it.”

The woman in front of me also turned and started laughing. “Me too!” she smiled at us, “I’m not sure, I did the same.”

The man who spoke up repeated his question to the person leaving the head of the queue. “No,” the departing person confirmed, “it’s not working.” Someone then felt brave enough to approach the cashpoint and said, “No, the card reader is damaged.”

With a sigh of relief we all settled back down into our English reserve and resumed our quiet places in the queue feeling justified that we hadn’t broken queuing protocol.   

Sometimes I feel like a sheep but sometimes I just know I’m so English! We love our quiet queuing. 

It’s a blessing and a curse ...

This is a familiar line from the Monk detective series. Adrian Monk is usually talking about his skills as a detective - who happens to have OCD.

I have been thinking about something rather different: beauty.

Is the gift of beauty a blessing or a curse?

I’ve heard that it is advisable to use beauty as a business and career asset. What do you think? Have you done it? Does your CV or Resume have - listed under transferrable skills and assets - the legend beauty shown?

I have just been wondering how, if you are beautiful, you go about enhancing this attribute to your best advantage, you know, for rapid career progression.

I know many beautiful people and they have said that being seen as attractive is more often than not a curse because they suffer from the lack of genuine observation of their intelligence or their personality.

They sometimes wish their gift of beauty away or hide it beneath clothes and behaviour. Is this fair?

This made me think about what else, as a natural phenomenon could be used as a business asset?

Should any birthright be cultivated for a career? Maybe Tyra Banks could give me some answers on this ... then more people could become the Top Model in their particular field.  

Fierce protection

I will protect the people and things I love fiercely: that includes myself.

I am not habitually a violent person but once – many moons ago – when someone persistently violated my personal space I did use physical force against them.  It shook me terribly for several hours, days and weeks. I have never forgotten the feeling of impending danger that I experienced and wanted to avert. I am not proud that I used force, but I am satisfied that I did the right thing at the right time.

That said, nowadays I use (as is my lifelong practice) the verbal skills of negotiation and personal engagement to avert any crisis.

Just last week I had cause to confront two youths riding a scrambler, at speed, on a footpath where I was walking with three children.

I did not approach them with aggression, although I could have, I was just intent upon sharing my thoughts – in a calm way – about the impact their reckless actions had and could have on others.

There was an initial standoff which included revving up of the bike as the rider turned the machine back towards me in a show of aggression. I walked forward regardless. I was determined but not stupid, I quickly assessed the situation and keeping eye contact I proceeded.

Insults were thrown at me, I decided to parry them with soft words and gentle inquiries. It seemed to work. 

Within a few minutes, the rider and his pillion passenger were calmer and nodding in understanding as I spoke with them. I explained that I knew about high-spirited actions but all I was asking was that they be considerate to the possibility of not so able people walking on the foot paths.

We parted amicably. The rider smiled from behind his balaclava and winked an acknowledgement of his understanding.

I was still calm as I went back to where my son and his friends were hiding around the corner. They were all safe that day, as was I. And I know things would have been so very different.

I am not easily deterred from doing right for those who are maligned. You see, I will always remain fiercely protective of those things close to my heart.

Embarrassing technology

Now before you get all excited, it’s probably not what you are thinking about! Good. Now that we’ve cleared that up, this is what happened to me the other day. It was embarrassing ...

As a recent owner of a Blackberry phone I was more than pleased that the company decided to give free applications following some downtime in their service. I browsed the gifts and selected ones I thought I could use. Strangely, because they were free they felt ‘different’ than if I had to pay for them, I don’t think I was quite as selective and careful with the instructions as I could have been.

Anyway, I had this particular application installed and after playing around with it for a while I promptly forgot it. This was my biggest error.

It just sat there on my phone waiting for the appropriate time to behave like a UXB. Well, that’s how I treated it later ...

I was sat with a year 3 child going through grammar and other literacy points when the phone made itself known from the depths of my coat pocket.

I scrambled to get it, the more flustered I became the harder it was to get the phone out, to remember where the controls were and to turn the volume down.

What happened? I hear you ask. Well, I had installed a Drive Safely application that reads your emails and messages to you as you are paying attention to the road. Alas, when I got out of the car that morning I had neglected to turn either the application or the phone on to silent.

The message that came through?

Well, I can’t really divulge that here, all I will say is that it was not suitable for the ears of a year 3 pupil! I mean, although they sometimes have difficulty in their reading skills, their listening and comprehension faculties work very well!

Her eyes were wide open as I eventually made the phone harmless.

I haven’t blushed like that for a while, but I guess hearing that my profile on some long forgotten site has be matched with  Anonymous Blond Curvaceous and that notifications have been sent is not conducive to a calm demeanour in front of sponge-like children!

Thanks for the free embarrassment Blackberry! 

Wrong number?

What do you do when someone rings you but it is obvious that they didn’t mean to ring you?

This was my conundrum the other day. The phone rang and there was a familiar voice at the end. The only problem was that I wasn't who they were really looking for.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hello.” Came the timid reply. There was recognition but obviously not what they were expecting. “Um...” there was continued hesitation.

“Hi, D,” I said helpfully, “This is Marjorie,”

There was a pause.

“Hi, how are you?” I said, “How’s the family? Did J tell you that we popped around the other day?” I had started the conversation in the hope that she realised that I didn’t mind her calling me, even when she didn’t mean to.

“I was home when you called by, but I must have been in bed. J didn’t tell me.”

“Never mind,” I said, drawing the conversation to a close. “Maybe we’ll catch up another time.”

As a final note I said, “You really need to sort out your phone book you know, D.” I said with a laugh. “I know you didn’t mean to ring me. But it’s OK, because it’s nice talking to you anyway.”

“Yes, Marj,” she said sheepishly. “I know.”

Sensing she really needed to make her original intended call, I said with a laugh, “Take care. I’ll catch you another time... maybe when you really mean to call me.”

She echoed my laughter rather weakly and also said goodbye.

With that the conversation ended and I put the phone down.

I know what I felt like when she went; I don’t know what she felt like ... again. You see, she keeps calling me and then saying, “Oh, Marj! It wasn’t you I meant to call. Sorry!”

At times like that, it is difficult to know what to do, whether to talk politely for a few seconds or to just say, 

“No worries. Bye.” And put the receiver back down.

Wrong number. Wrong person. Uncomfortable times.

Sometimes when we contact people we get the wrong number and a bad connection, too. 

Listen again

How can I discussion about women’s rights versus business survival get me incandescent with rage? When one of the speakers compares slavery to a good business model, that’s how.

So I decided to write about it. I decided to write to the speaker as well. I obtained her email address and set about constructing my argument. This is when I began to listen again.

I could not download the programme so I painstakingly listened to it all over again, transcribing it as I went. And this is the conclusion I have reached: I was wrong. I had a listening error.

You see, I have spent hours analysing and listening to this 9 minute 6 second segment and I now realise that my initial reaction was not based on facts. I responded to what I thought I heard, not what was actually said.

After transcribing the entire thing and going over it numerous times I now believe Dr Hobbs is saying that business growth, albeit valuable and important, cannot be achieved at any cost. Business has to contribute to a stronger society because there are psychological and moral costs of business growth as well. I’m glad I was wrong.

Her only error, I feel, was to attribute the blame of the August riots to unhappy families when she said “The cost of having unhappy families can also literally mean physical damage to business ... We all suffer the consequences of a society with broken families in it.”

Her last sentence, however, is still true.

I guess that sometimes it does pay to listen again.

Source of confidence

Last week I was privileged to attend a meeting with outstanding academics and as soon as I was in that environment I was imbued with a fresh charge of confidence.  The people in the same room as me exuded a sense of assurance that made me proud to be amongst them.

As serious topics were discussed I made notes and thought of questions to pose and answers to give. There was an electric charge of positivity that was as refreshing as a spring rain after a season of drought.

On my drive home I wondered where and how different people get confidence in their ability. Do they gain it from others or is it personally created. At some point people have to believe in themselves, whether they are gifted a seed or they make their own: personal confidence in you ability can take you a long way.

This much I know.

Cowardly?

Way in front of me one of the elderly women who live on my street was making her way gingerly along the road. She had a couple of shopping bags in one hand and a sturdy walking stick in the other. For every one of her steps I took about three and I was soon walking parallel to her.

We exchanged greetings and, in the age-old English fashion, commented on the weather.

I noted that she was making sure and steady progress.

“I don’t want to fall over,” she replied. “That’s why I’m staying close to these.” She used her stick to point at the line of bollards.

“That makes sense,” I responded. “With this wind it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Yes,” she continued. “I’m not a coward, but I’m not stupid either.” Being a frail woman of relatively short stature, I understood her totally when she said, “I have to keep anchored.” I could see there was not much to her small slim frame and the wind was getting fiercer by the moment.

I wished her well as we parted and a short while later on my return journey I caught up with her as she continued her tortoise-walk in close proximity of the walls. We turned the corner of the street together and said  our goodbyes.

Her wisdom will stay will me long after the weather has changed many times. 

The question

There comes a time when I begin to dread the question I feel people are going to ask because I am tired of answering it. You see, they never seem satisfied with my answer and then they want to change my life ... the way they think it should be.

What’s the dreaded question?

It’s simple really. A few words but they cover a whole lifetime of queries.

“How’s your love life?”

Ha!

Do you really mean ‘Am I seeing anybody?’ or ‘Any love interest on the cards’ or ‘Are you really still single?’, ‘What’s going on in your head! Just get somebody. It’s awkward to have a single friend.’

In that split second I have to decide what they really mean and how I will answer. Do I use humour, do I just tell them to mind their own business, or do I change the subject and then walk away?

The answer I want to give is, ‘My love life is ... nothing to do with you. If it was, then you’d already know all about it.’ But I don’t say that.

I usually just laugh and make some comment about them, saying that I will only ever be happy with them as my love interest. It usually causes more laughter because the people asking are always in a relationship.

Strange really.

Maybe I should ask them the same thing.

I don’t think they’d be too keen on answering that in the middle of a party. Who knows? Could lead to a whole different kind of party.

Connections

I’ve heard it said that connecting with people is the easiest thing in the world to do.

I’ve heard it said that connecting with people is the hardest thing in the world to do.

Observing children I see that sharing a smile together is so easy, and within minutes they are playing like they were always friends.

Some connections I don’t yet understand but I know they are true and will last a lifetime. Other connections are like frayed rope and I wish they were stronger, but no matter how I look at it, no matter what happens, these connections are not natural or true.

Connections should be natural – just like (organic) food.

Language

Language defines those that use it. 

Language is a major component of identity and a cultural determinant. 

Our individual use of language is a combination of the legacy we inherit from our ancestors and the communities that we inhabit today.

Our group use of language marks our groups and territories in a war-like manner, saying 'this is who we are (as we see us), this is who you are (as we see you)'.

Sticks

and stones

 may break my

bones but names will

never hurt me – a childhood lie

that does not die because language creates

small words and large systems that grow into huge

pervasive organisms of destruction and discrimination. The

 pyramid of falsehood will continue to grow and the foundation will

widen under the pressure of the lie that is not challenged or made to die.

Marjorie Morgan Ó June 07

Racism surfaced during the slave trade: the idea of white superiority and inequality was encouraged by slavery.  Negative stereotypes and offensive language were used to support the idea of African inferiority in the world. 

This legacy still exists today.

Multi-layered joy

Some weeks ago I was thinking about someone and I sent them a message wishing them ‘multi-layered joy’ for that particular weekend. This was because I wanted them to be happy at all levels of their existence at that time.

Since then I have also received wished in multiples. I have been wished a “multi-layered, multi-tasking, multi-tremendous week ...” I have obtained this many times over.

It is my wish at this time to share this multi-layered joy with you. I hope that everything you do, think and experience from this day forward is enriched with a portion of multi-layered happiness.

Remain blessed.

Can I confirm ... ?

I was looking after household business and called British Gas to ensure that I was getting the best deal possible for my fuel supplies. The woman on the other end of the line, Sarah, sounded as pleasant as anyone can when they are reading from a script that does not allow for individual personalities to shine through.

But then I got all pedantic with her, this Sarah person, in her guise as a customer service representative. She started trying to gain information by stealth: she was misusing – as far as I was concerned – the word ‘confirm’.

Sarah: Can I confirm your date of birth?

Me: (automatically responding) It’s 25^th ... hold on a minute, I don’t think you have it anyway, so how can you get me to confirm it.

Sarah: (Flustered sounds are heard – I’m suspect she was flipping the pages of her script for the next option.) OK. Can I conform your telephone number and email address?

Me: I haven’t shared either of those things with you before so how can I confirm them with you?

Sarah: We just need extra information to verify your identity.

Me: Why didn’t you just ask me for it then, instead of asking for confirmation of something that has never been stated? You can’t confirm something that is not known. You are misusing the word confirm in an attempt to get information without being clear about precisely what you are doing. I think that’s wrong.

Sarah: OK. Ms Morgan. I just need some additional information from you before I can help you with whatever you have called up about this morning. It’s a system requirement.

At this point I already know she’s not going to be very helpful to me in the rest of the call, but I decide to carry on regardless.

Me: I will give you my email address and phone number, however, I will not give you my date of birth. That’s something I don’t think you really need to know.

Sarah: (icily) Thank you, Ms Morgan.

Strangely, after this interaction, the deal I called up about had just finished because of ‘limited availability’ so Sarah was unable to guarantee me a lower fixed price deal for the next few years.

I am left with wondering if my pedantic response to her script conversation will cost me dearly this winter? 

Shall I call her back to confirm this is the case?

Questioning friendship

It is unusual that I baulk when someone refers to me as a friend. There have only been rare occasions that this has happen and they were mainly a long time ago when my partner used to introduce me as a ‘friend’ and I would – for social and political reasons, do the same. It always left a taste of bitterness.

So, imagine my surprise when earlier this week someone introduced me to other people as her ‘friend’ I immediately felt very uncomfortable with the term. This is not about denying intimacy; this is about making a presumption of closeness that does not exist. It made me uneasy.

I love people and look forward to making new friends, but I think this categorisation was a bit premature.

To me, friendship is about some commonality of view, interests, and is usually the result of spending some quality time together. As far as I was concerned none of these ‘requirements’ had been met.

This woman, who I had met in a business environment some time last year, had no right to refer to me as a friend, at least that’s what I felt and what I still think. Like I say, I found it an unexpected and unusual introduction that gave a false impression of our relationship.

It’s a bit like the Google + circles, some people are friends, some are acquaintances, some are in other categories that you really don’t want to announce publicly. I am always friendly, but to be referred to as a friend or to call someone a friend is a major step for me, one that I had not taken yet in this relationship. That’s why it threw me somewhat.

Maybe that statement will be the start of a real friendship, who knows. But right now all I feel is unsettled by the reference. How strange is that?