Amanda Potts. All I have to do is say her name and people who know me well start to chuckle. “What’s she up to now?” they ask. Someone will almost inevitably say, “Are you still talking to her?” or maybe, “You’re nicer than I am.”
It’s possible that I am just an extraordinarily nice person, but I know myself well enough to say that, well, I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure that I keep Amanda Potts around because I appreciate a good story. And, truth be told, I feel a little kinship with her; after all, we share the same name – and nearly the same email address.
BUT NOT THE SAME MIDDLE INITIAL for pity’s sake. And *my* email is mine because I got here first. It’s not my fault she has to use her middle initial in her email. Ahem. See what I mean about probably not extraordinarily nice?
Longtime readers of this blog may remember Amanda from this post wherein I introduced my longest-running mistaken Amanda whose life is, frankly, significantly more exciting than mine. As a teacher and mother in Ottawa – with two kids and a mortgage, to boot – emails intended for me rarely arrive with titles like “Bare Assed Silverado Stay” ( I will forever regret deleting that one) and I had no time to plan a Surf & Yoga retreat in Portugal – or even to go through all the pictures they shared.
You might also recall this post which discussed the alarming number Amanda Potts’s cropping up. My most frequent mistaken identity was settling down a bit – she had moved from LA to NYC – but the others were all sorts of trouble. I finally caved and actually called a doctor’s office in Oklahoma to tell them why one Amanda was missing all her appointments. Meanwhile one of us (newly-married Arizona Amanda) was trying to get pregnant and *someone* gave our email to the Polk County Jail so we could write to an inmate. On behalf of all of us – nah, I’m lying – on behalf of me, I declined.
Recently, my longest-running Amanda doppelganger has moved back to Ontario. This is really good because I wasn’t convinced that NYC was the right place for us – we had a lot of trouble finding an apartment. Still, the return to Toronto hasn’t been without drama. My spidey-senses tingled when we got invited to a party by someone whose signature declared him to be a “Boldologist” and who reminded us several times that the party cost $25 – we could invite other people, but they would have to pay, too. Mmmhmm. He also sent follow-up emails reminding us to send thank you notes. I *almost* wrote back to tell him that I’m old enough to know when thank you’s are warranted, but I hadn’t attended the party, so I kept my mouth shut and forwarded the emails. Let’s just say that I wasn’t shocked, then, to learn that we were interested in an Evolutionary Somatic Practitioner who, though she couldn’t correctly copy an email address, nevertheless promised to help us get our balance back. It’s not often my emails open with “I’d be delighted to support you to process and integrate what’s arising for you….”
Now that I think about it, I may keep in touch simply for the greetings: “Hey Straight Baddy” and “Hey, Amanda. I hope you’re kickin ass and taking names” are about a million times more interesting than “Hi Miss, I’m sorry my essay is late.” Nope… just kidding. I don’t have any choice in the matter: they just. keep. writing.
Things may calm down for a while in the next few months. Amanda’s just found an apartment in downtown Toronto – it looks lovely, but she needs to register for a parking space. Her mother will co-sign the lease. I know who wants to work with her and what some of her projects are. After all, we’ve been at this for YEARS. At this point, when I forward her email – which I did just before I sat down to write – I often include little messages. She’s started writing back.
A few emails ago I said we should write a book. She didn’t say no.