A nod to the inner demons

I’m not a flaker, generally speaking. That is, one who flakes often. In fact, aside from the last couple of months, I can remember only a handful of times where I’ve flaked.

I’m often late – I purposefully say “ish” at the end of any given time frame whenever I can. But that’s not quite the same as full-on flaking.

Flaking like I’ve been doing. Flaking to the degree where you know you have an appointment, you are aware, alert, and more-or-less ready to handle it appropriately (whether that means calling someone, getting up and leaving the house, etc), and actively decide that you (a) don’t care about the person you’re meeting enough to even let them know, and (b) care so little about the consequences that whatever you happen to be presently doing is more important.

I’ve been a flaker the last couple of months. I’ve gotten up at a normal hour to go to work, for instance, had a meeting I was supposed to attend, and arbitrarily decided that whatever dream I was having was more important.

And then went back to bed without sending an email or telephoning.

Unprofessional, undependable, and occasionally even unethical. Certainly a sign of underlying malaise.

I’ve been doing it to girls, too. Not really wanting to go out with this person or that, I’ll make a tentative date and then not call to “firm up plans”. Or I’ll say I’m going to call and then won’t. Or I’ll make a date and then cancel it. Via email. The day of.

Ouch.

Now, my own golden rule driven morality gets in the way of this a fair amount. It’s not like I’m sleeping with these women (almost two months and counting! And it feels so… um… clean? Stress-free? ), and I do typically offer them more respect than some clown I’ve never met in another division of the has-been company I happen to work for. (Not that it’s any better, but I guess it feels like there’s self-esteem involved with women, but only a mild inconvenience with a pseudo-co-worker.)

Still, I’ve been a flake lately, and it doesn’t feel good. It’s not like I’m actively reinforcing boundaries or insisting on a low-stress lifestyle. I’m just being an asshole.

And I think I’m more of an asshole for it than anyone else.

Insult to injury? Every time I flake, I feel one step closer to the deep, dark black hole that is depression. Or loser-ville. Or just being a bad person in general. The line between me and folks who aren’t successful and/or what I call “not functional” seems every so slightly thinner.

And I become just a little bit less of the person I like to think I am. A little bit less the person everyone else seems to believe I am.

A little bit less human.