Some of my friends wonder how I can keep my personal and professional blogs, e-mails and other stuff separate. Easy, I say. It's a mindset, much like that which actors get into when they're "in character". I know who Lazygal is supposed to be and sound like...
Of course, keeping track of my many e-mail addresses (joke list, this blog, professional/personal, personal/personal, work, etc.) can be a bit daunting at times but hey, that's what early morning tv is made for: time to quickly check in on all that and see who wants what from which of me. And with this new job not only did I get three e-mail accounts (personal, library and archives) but I decided to get a work-related cell phone so students and others could text me.
And that's where Vincent crept in to my life.
You see, I don't actually go by Lazygal anywhere except here and on twitter. Everywhere else I'm, well, me. So imagine my surprise when I started getting phone calls on my new phone for Vincent. I'm pretty clear that I'm a nearly 51-year-old female of Eastern European descent. And I've never had any gender identification issues before (ok, well, sort-of, but that was in college and I'm pretty sure the professor really regrets calling me and a female friend/classmate "boys" - or, more likely, regretted it when the rest of the class erupted in laughter and then he moved on, because I have... mostly). But Vincent? Hmmm....
This was his old phone number and however many months ago he gave it up. Rumor has it that numbers get recycled after about six months, which should give people the sense that "Vincent doesn't live here any more" but in this case? I'm guessing that the number was his far more recently. Because wouldn't his pharmacy (the one near the library one town over from the town I just moved from) and his friends and - more important! - his credit collectors know that he wasn't at that number otherwise?
Seriously: I've gotten on average 3 phone calls a week since October, all for Vincent. All from credit collection agencies. And within the past month I've gotten texts for him, three from friends and one from the pharmacy (hope he got his meds ok!).
So let me just reiterate: I Am Not Vincent.
Except maybe on the phone.