I perhaps get unreasonably annoyed when people contact me when I don’t want to be contacted. In all fairness, it’s not like I have “office hours” in practice, much less, posted anywhere. I’m a musician and artist by trade and most people expect me to keep odd hours. That’s even a reasonable expectation. Additionally, I think it’s ALSO a reasonable expectation that if one doesn’t want to be contacted, one turns their phone off or sets it to “do not disturb”. We have such CONTROL over these things – truly there shouldn’t be much opportunity for me to screw up someone else’s nap, usual time o’ somnolence, gig, movie or visit to the library.
And I exercise that control. My phone never rings when I don’t want it to. Texts don’t even create a notification tick or anything.
AND SO – it’s not unreasonable for me to ignore texts, phone calls, emails, Facebook messages, Twitter Direct Messages, Instagram Messages until I’m damned well ready to look at them and to let anyone’s angst over that roll off my back. There simply are not THAT many emergencies in folk music.
But… you look at the phone. And you see multiple texts from angry people on a Sunday night. Requesting something they could deal with on their own. Something that’s not really related to you. But people have MY phone number or contact information and … I guess figure I could solve the problem. Of the graphic they need for a letter. Of a business that’s related to one of my open mics that’s not open during their posted hours. Of the parking situation in Takoma Park.
I SHOULD try to step back and be flattered by this. Clearly, these people think I can help them. And do something about their letter / locked door / parking. But… it feels like they’re snapping fingers in my face like I’m SUPPOSED to solve this problem for them. Like I’m somehow responsible to them to solve this issue. Like they’re my boss and they expect me to hop to it at 10pm on a Sunday.
I wish I could just vanish. Just evaporate. I like my phone number. I like my email address. I don’t want to change it. I want to send the phone spiders forth to delete me from people’s databases.
I wish I was invisible.
Right till it’s time for me to be on people’s minds again.
Because when it’s not 11.56pm on a Sunday, I honestly LIKE feeling needed. I WANT to solve your problem. I’d like to help each and every one of you.
It’s not you. It’s me. Just…. One message a day please. *I* don’t even own my time. You sure don’t.