Episode One Hundred Forty Five: Unwell.
In which we collate poorly.

1 comment:

  1. My experience with communication disconnect. The man is trying to parse out what the woman is saying, and he’s running it through various analyses, none of which is coming close to an understanding between them. She’s been waiting for a response, and he’s in paralysis, not knowing what to say while also knowing that anything he does say will likely be a response based on a (randomly chosen, ultimately) incorrect interpretation of the moment. When she speaks, after having patiently waited for him to say something, he’s brought back to reality, empty-handed.

    This is my daily experience with everyone. After an exhaustive attempt at interpretation, I reiterate what I think the other person means, and I am often way off. I spend my every day walking through a life that is nothing but funhouse mirrors, and it’s unpleasant. The response I often get indicates that the receiving party can’t fathom what’s wrong with me. I can’t figure out whether this is common, and everyone just ignores the sensation, or if I’m unique.

    I work in tech support, which further doesn’t help. It’s not unusual for me to be supporting a person who refuses to give up on their description of their problem, even when I more accurately describe it when guessing at the cause. “Do you mean that it’s saying, Network connection lost?” “No, everything crashed.” Only I’ll show up to find that it actually does say Network connection lost, and nothing has actually crashed, and I have to accept that –for whatever reason- they were deliberately misleading me, or ignoring what I was saying, or just don’t get the distinction. This happens all the time. So –in my mind- my understanding of their experience turns out to be more accurate than their understanding of their experience, and my having that experience is not conducive for my mental health.

    For this strip I needed to come up with a cafĂ© scene to model against, and I pulled a photo of Beats in Paris, I think, having coffee. As it turned out, the angle of the photo precluded the front side of the table, so it’s not clear whether there are other people sitting with them. And this inadvertently added a new dimension to the strip that I hadn’t intended: Do they even have a relationship before this moment? Or are they strangers, and he’s found himself sitting next to someone who’s rapidly changing state in a way that has made him uncomfortable? Maybe she’s strutting a bit, showing off her colors, and she’s in the end asking for him to acknowledge her. Maybe there’s another conversation happening at the table, and she’s going through these transitions, and he’s the only one who seems to have noticed, and he’s trying to ignore them, but she’s become aware of his unease and her ‘well?’ is a way of saying ‘what?’ Anyway, finding that unanticipated dimension made me very happy.

    “Well” was kind of a quick choice of words, and I was pleased with the unintended directions it goes in. Unwell. Down a well. Welling up.

    Also, I love the angle and solid feeling I’m getting from the table. I feel I could rap on it and it would emit a lovely, hard sharp sound.



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