Some who know me well know the history of my upbringing. It was an upbringing that was more or less, touching light. On the plus side, I never had to ward off the “bad touch.” On the downside, without maternal hugs and kisses, because frankly Pat was too frazzled at day’s end and was chockful of all kinds of repressed reserve, I never learned how to not look awkward as fucking hell in the midst of an embrace.

For real, my idea of hugging involves some kind of thrusting grasping clutching maneuver that just ain’t grace in motion.

I tend to overscompensate. Recognizing my lack, and my tendency to stiffen subconciously, I try hard to not bauble the execution. I don’t duck hugging moments, forcing myself to participate whilst muttering to myself a mental how-to script. Comedy, and it’s show bidness style, forced the forcing of my self to just do it. Nothing beats a room full of drama lovers and the whole kiss-kiss-hug-hug thang.

None of this prepared me for working in California. Don’t know if it’s the West, or the particular field I work in or what the fuck. But, I have hugged my co-workers more in one year than at all in the previous 25 or so since I got my working papers.

We had a staff meeting this week, and hugged goodbye the folks leaving town after. Tonight I stepped out and saw some co-workers having an out of office experience. There were hugs, even with the chick who works in an entirely different department who I only ever see in the ladies’ room.