abbey barlett makes a fine point.

whining.

CECILIA: ...and our gin infused �" no, not infused �" our gin-soaked ruminations over dead playwrights and ill-thought out, and for the most part largely unfounded, arguments over politics never really happened because all my friends ever seem to want to talk about is each other, actually, themselves. Every response to everything is heavily dependent on references to the self -- any opportunity to lead the conversation back to rest firmly and smugly in the eyes of their overinflated egos. I mean, I am probably just as bad as the rest of them, I do stake great importance in my own happiness, comfort and wellbeing but at the same time, I seem to be the only one who realises how ridiculous we all sound, sitting around and having inconsequential conversations about trivia and ephemera that we think makes us sound intelligent. We imitate the tones, the cadences and the unflinching convictions of smart people who can talk at length about smart things when the only thing that any of us are experts in is the self.

 

Oh, this all sounds so narrow-minded, it really does. I mean, really, what a complaint. My friends are all self-centred and it’s boring because we can’t talk about the world, we can only talk about us in the world. That doesn’t even make sense, does it? I suppose not.

 

They don’t inspire me. Should friends inspire you? They all seem so complacent and bored, so complacently bored. Unambitious and uncommitted. How they appear to other people, this is what drives them, what inspires them. But, oh, again I must stop myself because the moment I say something like that I feel horrible because who am I to speculate as to what drives my friends to behave the way they behave, to drink the way they drink and to dance the way they dance? I don’t think I ever will know, really, but this is what appears to be the case. And again, I am as guilty as the lot of them, so I suppose I am not in any position to pass judgement, but I don’t think that’s what I am doing. I’m trying to understand them because I’ve reached some kind of horrible, disorienting point where I am questioning why I am even friends with some of these people. So in order to find out why, I’m thinking about them all and why I even began to associate with them in the first place and I tell you, the whole thing makes me want to curl up in a dark, small, cool cupboard and hide from them. And then this thought, this whole self-imposed exile scenario is even more tiringly depressing because I find myself wondering how long it would take, if I truly were hidden away from them in this wonderful and shadowy cupboard, how long it would take for them to stop searching for me. Or, and forgive me, because this is sounding more and more overly melodramatic by the word, but, I do wonder if they would actually search for me. I’m not saying that these people are so absurdly solipsistic as to not notice when their friend completely disappears, but I am just wondering if they would actually make a concerted effort to search for me or just make a few half-hearted telephone calls, and then ultimately blame the entire thing on me for not making an effort in response.

 

These are all hypotheticals, of course, but even so, it’s hard being around them when these kinds of thoughts are brewing. It can be overwhelming.

 

One last point, which was possibly the catalyst for this entire reevaluating-the-social-group crisis and it was something that Abbey Bartlett said on The West Wing, which is increasingly (perhaps worryingly so) providing me with guidance and insight regarding life, liberty and fictional politics. Anyway, she said to her husband, ‘don’t worry. You are surrounded by smart people who love you and who have your back.’  I stare at these people and I wonder.