Don’t You Dare Small Talk Me…

Just TRY and Small Talk Me

It might be hard to believe — because I’ve made a career talking about my personal life in my comedy — but I am insanely private. I especially don’t want to talk about other people’s lives. It’s not your business, and it’s not mine.
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But I have to talk about my sister real quick.

My older sister is currently in non-aggressive end-of-life care. It’s been a confusing, upsetting, and dizzying last few months, to say the least. I’ve been going back and forth between where I live and where she’s non-aggressively dying to help in any way I can. My favorite way to help is to make fun of the nurses who talk to her in a loud sing-song voice — and then talk to her in a fucking normal voice.

This Isn’t A Christmas Letter

I’m mentioning this because when I write this newsletter or talk on my podcast, I imagine it going out to thousands of strangers — people who may relate to what I’m saying, whether it’s something trivial, profound, or somewhere in between. I do not imagine this going out to people I sort of know, who sort of know me — or who sort of know my sister — and who are reading it like it’s a once-a-year Christmas letter.
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I didn’t expect that casually mentioning I had a sick family member a few newsletters ago would kick off a whirlwind of people coming out of the woodwork and — I’ll just be honest — bothering me and my family. Offering to “help” based on what they think is helpful, not what’s actually helpful.
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​Not helpful: Offering to bring food to a patient with brain damage who’s on a dysphagia diet.
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​Helpful: Not contacting long-lost friends and their family during a crisis. You’re just adding to the to-do list and the guilt pile.
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I know this sounds harsh. I’ve carefully removed anyone from this list who may be in question.

Well-Meaning People Please Fuck Off

It hurts my soul not to say, “I know they mean well,” because I do know they mean well. But come on, people. Let’s level up. Let’s do things that are actually well-intentioned, not just “well-meaning.” Has anyone ever done something “well-meaning” that wasn’t a giant pain in someone else’s ass? “Well-meaning” is never a compliment.
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And that brings me to the topic at hand: small talk. I’ve been trying to ban small talk for decades — to no avail.
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At an appointment a few weeks ago, I was mindlessly asked, “Got any big fun plans for the summer?”
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I said, “No.”
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They said, “Aw, well, there’s still time to make some!”
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I said, “No. My sister is dying. I’m not going on vacation or having fun right now.”
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They stared at me. I made them uncomfortable.
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Ha. Ha. Good.

Big Fun Plans This Summer?

Y’all have been making me uncomfortable for decades with these dumb questions about my plans. Leave the neurodivergent people alone. We don’t know what day it is! I don’t know what my plans are. Whatever they are, I’ll probably cancel them anyway — and anything I actually attend will be spontaneous.
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​Sigh.
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​“Big fun plans this summer?”
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While my sister non-aggressively dies — I’ll be aggressively Autistic (I am Autistic) and speaking in blunt truths and flat tones. Just typing that makes me smile. Unburdening myself is actually my big fun plan for this summer.