Dialed Up

AKA, I'm carding what friends I have left.

By Zach Hively

Despite any previous claims I have made to the contrary, I have actual friends all over this country. All over the world! That way, I know I am loved in several time zones, but I don’t have local people infringing on my free time for frivolous activities like “birthday parties” and “driving you to the airport” and “being there for you when you need emotional support.”
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All the maintenance required for friendships abroad is the biannual phone call or email. For those, you don’t have to put on going-out clothes or find parking downtown— you can sit at home in your scuzziest pajamas and decide partway through the process to wear no clothes at all. This is extra true when you don’t use FaceTime.

Essentially, long-distance friendships enable me to enjoy all the benefits of being alone without any of the crippling drawbacks of loneliness. It’s a perfect setup—or so I thought.

You see, everything has a cost. The cost of my friendship strategy is that correspondence takes time. And I always have something else to do with my time. Things like, saving the nation from runaway fascism. I’ve started to suspect that, by gum, I am the one person on this earth with the smarts, the looks, and the God-given destiny to stop the insanity that’s happening so fast that no single individual can keep up with all of it.

I mean, I see all kinds of ways out of this. I just need Congress to listen to me, and the state governors, and the National Guard, and NASA, and an assortment of woodland creatures. I’d have the whole kerfuffle dusted by Valentine’s Day. If not this year’s Valentine’s Day, then certainly some year’s.

But then I decide to read the internet. That’s when I get downhearted. All … this … might just be shiny head fakes designed to distract us plebes from the actual shifts in power structure that will ultimately send us spiraling into a world where we’d consider cannibalism a reasonable alternative to swallowing this much doodoo.

Taking on the new world order makes me tired. So I take lots of naps. And when I wake up to discover that nothing has changed for the better, that makes me really, really, really want to talk to my friends. Except that I know we’ll just end up rehashing the latest madness. And like I said, I have lots of other things to do with my time. Like writing Christmas thank-you notes.

These glittery, wintry cards have been sitting in their original packaging on my coffee table since December. And not the most recent December, either. You may be thinking that I should just pick up the phone and call my friends and family to say thanks. Maybe have an actual conversation while we’re at it. But why do that when I can send them a card? A card is a tangible representation of my affection. A card also says, “Hey, friend and/or family member, you are special enough that I don’t want our conversations to be electronically traceable in any way.”

That’s right: in these recent times, I have become a paranoid survivalist. I don’t want the government and other billionaire-run organizations tracking any of my activities, even if it’s just me thanking my grandpa for sending me a check instead of wrong-size socks. I don’t want the wrong people knowing where I shop, where I hike, who I talk to, or how much time, exactly, I spend reading listicles instead of working.

Basically, I am taking preemptive action here. The only way to stay entirely safe is to cease to exist. I mean, crazed fans aren’t lining up to assassinate Meat Loaf, amirite?

But isn’t that exactly what they want, the people you know who I’m talking about? To divide us, to isolate us? That’s what will happen when we choose to live in fear and submission. And the antidote to division—isn’t that connection?

Connection doesn’t have to be on a large scale. Million-person marches. Grand demonstrations. It can also be two people who genuinely care about each other sending notes in the mail, calling each other just to say hi. Even if they end up discussing the Atwoodian amusement park at hand—isn’t open communication precisely what brings us together?

So that’s it. No more excuses. As an act of compassion and resistance, I’m going to call my friends. Right away. No stalling for nothing. I mean it. As soon as I figure out how to tie off this piece.
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