The nine inches of snow we got today tell a different story, but I can feel the wriggle of life under the blanket that January and February have buried me with. It happened twice this week. I read or heard something and wanted to write about it. Squee! It seems like a long time since that has happened.
So, what shall we talk about?
That moment you realized you aren’t as weird as you thought? When you read Fifty Shades and weren’t scared but wanted to Samba around the library because you realized you had a tribe.
Friendship, when it’s not about love, it’s about differences.
BTS is coming back stateside and I need to stop pinning about them. That’s pinning not pining. Two different things. If you follow me on Pinterest, I’m sorry, I can’t stop. I promise not to be offended if you leave me because one more picture or gif of him is going to send you over the edge of sanity.
Okay. I’m leaning toward either BDSM or Friendship.
Let’s go with mostly, get the work out-of-the-way before the fun.
I have a friend that I love, but she doesn’t feel loved. Our friendship has been unraveling a bit since her job took her to another school and busy schedules have kept us apart. It got exponentially worse when she quit her job before Christmas and didn’t sign up for another section of night school. Now she has time. She’s no longer so busy she can’t see straight. Me though, I’m still doing what I’ve been doing since we met. It’s not going to be enough anymore.
This week on Facebook she posted an article When You Realize A Friend Doesn’t Feel the Same Way About You.
I think it was directed toward me. I could be wrong, but I haven’t called her, and I know that’s what she needs. We haven’t spoken since the end of January. Truthfully, how I feel about her hasn’t changed. I still love her craziness, her forthright manner, her passion, and drive. However, January and February were tough. March has come in with almost a foot of snow and with it a host of problematic issues at home. When I think of calling her, I feel tired. Then I look at the title of the article, and I get a little mad. It isn’t that I don’t love you as much as you love me. It’s merely that I love you different than you love me. When we worked together and talked together every day, it was less apparent, but we do have vastly different personalities.
I’m a hermit on the weekends. I like to go home and stay there. I watch movies, read, write, anything I can do from under my comforter. I don’t answer my phone, that’s a big no-no with her. I try my best to answer when she calls. In fact, I’ll answer her call more often than my sisters. Shh, don’t tell them. Most people who’ve known me very long just text me. I am a writer.
She loves to go out on the weekends, have drinks and dinner with friends, meet and get coffee on Saturday mornings, sometimes shop. She loves to talk.
I love to talk, too, but just to the voices in my head, or with my characters. I find that what I enjoy talking about is either writing and boring her to death or largely inappropriate for public discussion. I’m best left in my head.
She is doing stellar right now, losing weight, looking amazing, exercising at the Y, supporting her kids in their myriad activities.
Me, I’m herminating like there is no tomorrow. I drive my kids to TaeKwonDo, Dance, Church Activities, Drama Club-but like me my kids like to hermit hardcore on the weekends. They read, dance, study Korean, watch YouTube, shovel snow. As the youngest friend notes, “You guys never do anything!”
Yes, it’s just how we like it.
I don’t love her less, I’m just being me. I don’t believe she loves me less, she’s just being her. It may be a vain hope, but I hope we come back together. When the sun shines, and everything is warm and bright, I hope we find our way back to each other.