Tag Archives: friendship

Dear 9-Year Old Me:

Remember all those boxes my parents gave me when they moved?

I am still working through journals and “Most Homework” awards, notes my friends passed me between periods, and sketches of 90s fashion.

I always assumed one day the journals would be super relevant to society as a whole. Like- how cool would it be to read Van Gogh’s childhood journals?

But i’ve had a revelation, which is that i am not Van Gogh. Au contraire. I am devoid of passion. I want little to do with the local fine art community. I very much like both my ears. And while it is true that i might shoot myself should i have access to a gun, i refuse to commit myself to an asylum. Nor do i have a vast array of paintings to leave in my wake.

Also, my poems suck. I’ve gone through about five or six notebooks and only salvaged three poems, all in Spanish.

I came across a theme song my friend, Linda, wrote me in high school, in case i ever got my own show. That was a nice keepsake.

The journal entries are full of puberty-driven drama and a couple traumatic public arguments with my mom, which i should recall but have no working memory of.

In 4th grade, our teacher made us makeshift yearbooks and we all had to write something nice about each other. A lot of kids described me as funny, nice and smart. My crush wrote an especially personal note about my slinky and it recovering from its allergies.

9-year old me had friends, wit, and even an academic rival. She had it all together.

(I have no working memory of that).

In a different journal, one from a few years later, my friend Anita said i was her best friend. She was murdered a week before graduation. What if i hadn’t switched to homeschooling? She might still be alive.

Anita and i met in kindergarten. At some point she approached me and asked if i would be friends with her. She spent a lot of time at our home after that.

We were always the shortest ones in class pictures. But she was a bigger risk-taker, and she had the attitude of an adult pop star when we were only 13.

We used to ditch class and talk about world politics and philosophy. Or her boyfriends. Or my crushes.

But i have blocked a lot of her memories too.

I wish i hadn’t.

So anyway, i peaked at nine years of age, and it’s all been downhill since.

I was exceptionally good at math, even being in the 99th percentile for a couple years. That’s when my older brother, an Economics major, was tutoring me. But then he moved out, chosing his girlfriend over my grades.

I think if he’d kept supporting me, i might have become an astrophysicist. But i was too independent to ask for help.

Still, i can’t help but blame him for my mediocre career. I mean, my academic output was entirely his responsibility.

I often wrote about how much i hated to bother people, how i didn’t feel connected to anyone, how their love felt conditional… A lot of the same stuff i am trying to work through now as symptoms of Borderline Personality, or abandonment anxiety.

At some early point, i gave up trying to depend on friends and family and focused on my relationship with God.

I had a friend, Michelle. I am still friends with her. I kept writing “to” her long after she disappeared to Vegas.

I’ve never shown her all the letters i wrote her. We’re just nominal friends now. Childhood friends. Not adult friends, which i understand is a thing.

I spent a lot of time with Anita, but of course, she died, and with another girl named Brenda, whom i lost touch with after she eloped at sixteen.

Brenda was my neighbor. She was sort of a child-slave for her younger brothers and dad.

Then there was Linda, who wrote me the theme song, but went off the grid when she divorced in our late 20s.

And Nancy, whom i ran into in Dance Club last spring, but am too indecisive about texting because she’s too attached to many old schoolmates.

I do not wish to relive school hierarchies; some kids were nice but i feel indifferent towards most.

There was Sarah, my mental counterpart, who dropped out of school because she got pregnant at 16.

Her parents didn’t like me. But she had a cat and a piano. And a baby, in time.

I guess a lot of my friends either left home at 16, or got murdered. It was kinda the thing to do back then.

I was not a good daughter to my mother. There was a little bit of verbal and physical abuse and my reaction was to spend as much time outdoors as possible.

But i have no working memory of that. It’s all in the shredder now.

I am not sorry, 9-Year Old Me. You saw how our brother walked out the door. I did the best i could with our available emotional resources. I have nothing to apologize for.


The Keebler Elf’s Demise

Do you ever feel like there’s something stuck in you that shouldn’t be there, but you don’t want to talk about it and even if you did, you wouldn’t know where to start because you have no idea what it is?

I once had a friend who felt that way. She could only talk about her problems in the third person.

All her life she thought the light at the end of the rainbow was a person who’d be there waiting with open arms… a person who would caress her shoulders and make her feel safe and at home.

Maybe it wouldn’t be anyone she’d ever met. Maybe it’d be a stranger, or someone she’d briefly met but never got the chance to get to know better.

In any case, once she found that person, they would complete each other. And she’d never feel alone again.

You see, this friend of mine was on drugs. Hallucinogens. No such rainbow exists. Keebler elves don’t really make cookies. If you don’t really matter to anyone in the first half of your life, chances are you’ll never really matter to anyone.

Chances are.

Of course, there are probably exceptions.

But those people probably have to try super hard to build a support network or trust their significant other.

It cannot possibly be worth all the trouble.

Life is beautiful with or without people to share it with.

Life is painful regardless of the company you keep, and often painful on account of them.

Only pets are fairly reliable.

Yes, they want food and attention, but when was the last time your dog or cat made you feel like killing yourself?

Likely never.

Now, if you’ve dealt with depression your whole life, when was the last time someone you trusted made you feel like a burden?

Last week? This morning?

And the thing is, there are people in our lives we can’t switch out for others.

Last week an alcoholic homeless man was found dead at a local park. His daughters live down south and they told the newspaper reporter their dad didn’t keep in touch with them.

It’s a very sad story and has no moral that i can think of.

They weren’t responsible for his choices and he must’ve felt they were better off without him in their lives.

It was mutual.

Why was he an alcoholic? It must’ve filled some kind of void. Did his wife leave him? Did his dad beat him as a child? Was his grandfather an alcoholic?

Guy was probably doomed before he was born. Then got re-doomed along the way. Just for kicks.

We don’t get to choose our genes or the people who raise us. We can’t choose if our siblings love us or make us feel like we’re a constant disappointment. We can’t make our spouse find us attractive if they always try to see through us.

Mistakes are made but often compensated for with contributions.

So what happens to the person who gets drained out and can’t contribute any more?

Everyone hates that person.

I’d hate to be her.

Me World and the Validation Train

My long lost friend finally found her calendar. We got together a couple times but i’m afraid i talked her ear off, desperate as i am for validation.

Something similar happened yesterday with another friend. I never really talk a whole lot, so when i do, i’m like a train without brakes.

Since my suppressed marriage memories make up such a big portion of my subconscious, i end up flooding my friends with a bunch of personal details- personality maps, if you will- which are useless to them outside of Me World. And let’s face it, the only person who lives in Me World is me.

(It’s not the happiest place on earth, but it’s less crowded than Disneyland).

After a while of bouncing relationship queries off my friend, i came to the realization that the reason i am not happy in my marriage is because he treats me like a live-in girlfriend, not a wife.

I say i’m unhappy in this town. He says he’s sorry and i’m free to leave if i want to. There is never the option of us moving away together.

I say i want kids. He says he’s on board but makes a series of passive aggressive anti-child comments over the next few days.

I ask him for computer technical help. He charges me for the hardware.


How did i not see this before?

My friend says i should withhold sex but he’s not really into me in that way. Sure, we still do it on occasion, like most unhappy couples who’ve been together for a long time. But whereas one good* encounter only holds me over for a few weeks, he can go months without touching me.

I know it’s so over- it’s been over for ages- but i love him.

Still, as i was binge watching “Jane the Virgin,” i couldn’t help but feel happy that my husband is real and not some empty fantasy based on a sensationalist script.

It’s so easy to develop feelings for someone else. I believe it’s quite normal. All it takes is to feel your spouse or partner no longer loves you. Then someone smiles at something you said. A charming smile. All of a sudden, there’s sunlight and warmth on your skin. You crave more. You feel relevant. You feel alive.

But it’s silly, right? Because hardly anyone ever stays with the person they cheat with. The person you’d be willing to sacrifice all your hard work for is ultimately poison. They may look like the trampoline to happiness but they are just a slippery stepping stone on your way up a drying creek.

The happiest people on earth are the ones on medication.

Those of us taking a holistic approach can only pride ourselves on our resilience upon hitting the pavement day after day, hour after hour.

Fairy tale love isn’t real. Mr. or Mrs. Right is the person who stays with you despite everything life throws at you. Passion is temporary. Maybe certain people are meant for each other, but they’re so busy looking down at their phones, they miss the smile that would have saved them.

I guess it’s important true love continues to elude most of us. Otherwise Me World might get a little crowded.

*Subject to interpretation

Adult Friendships and Other Unrealistic Goals

The concert came and went but Ave the guitarist continued to feel as lonesome and restless as ever.

Their performance had been subspectacular. It was about a hair below mediocre. But most importantly, it was done.

She hadn’t given up, not even when she had to write the letters next to the notes on the sheet music to keep up with the other musicians. Not even when her custom ordered guitar hadn’t come. She marched up on that stage, trudged right along through every measure, well, maybe not every measure.

Ok so she skipped a few measures here and there. But she stuck it out and took a bow with the rest of them.

I’m not sure why i was writing about myself in third person but i’m going to stop that now.

This was a difficult project i undertook. The women i met were very supportive and wonderful. Everyone was. I wish it wasn’t so time consuming. I wish i was rich and could devote myself to all of my art projects without neglecting any.

I had planned on finishing my novel this year. But if i stay in chamber music, i won’t have time for that or to do the illustrations on a book my dad’s self-publishing.

If i let a lot of time go by between drawing or photo projects, i start to feel like i’m losing myself. The same thing happens when i go a couple weeks without giving any Bible classes.

But like i said, the ladies i played guitar with were so supportive and it’s hard to find people like that.

I recently texted an old friend. She wanted to hang out and said she’d check her calendar and get back to me. It’s been a week and a half. I think it’s safe to assume she can’t find her calendar.

Something similar happened with a childhood friend of mine who texted me in January to hang out in February. She never texted me when the time came, so i texted her a few weeks later and she never replied. I’m pretty sure she was drunk the first time she texted me back in January.

It’s hard for me to put myself out there and get met with rejection. I work in Sales so i’m rather used to it, but it’s not the same. I always try to act like it’s ok and it doesn’t matter. I just go on living my life as normal. Sometimes i hear the women in my congregation got together to do this or that and i feel bad because i get left out.

I get that no one really gets my sense of humor. Those who do get it already have their own tight circle; they don’t need new close friends. I’m somehow outside their comfort zone.

At least i have my husband, but he’s always asleep or on his phone or at the gym or at his parents’.

I guess i’m just not that fun to be around. Like on a fun scale i’d probably be just the scale, not even a number.

Tonight i called my mom to invite her to come conduct a Bible study with me. But she’s too busy. The other day she came to a nearby city to a baby shower. I was sort of jealous.

I can’t even remember the last time i was invited to a baby shower. The clothes are so cute, and the little shoes make me teary-eyed. I think i was eight.

I really don’t get it. I even texted this guy i’ve been trying to be friends with for like a year now, because we have a lot in common. The one i said was my soulmate. But that’s pretty much unilateral, as so many of my relationships are. As was the conversation.

He didn’t reply. I deleted his number. It hurts too much to reach out in the dark for someone and be ignored. Anyway, I was just trying to be nice. At least that’s what i thought i was doing.

But let’s revisit my childhood traumas for just a second. Our home was so very small and i was always in everybody’s way. I wanted to disappear. I started overdosing on over the counter painkillers.

That was fun.

When we lived in Mexico, the consensus in the congregation was that i was somehow holding my husband back. So i mixed the painkillers with cleaning liquids and eventually alcohol.

That wasn’t so fun.

The last time i did that, i was 32. My husband had stormed out of the house, angry about something. I was taking my heartrate as i downed the bottle. It was somewhere in the 30s.

Someone called me from a different congregation. She said i sounded weird. I told her i was alright. After hanging up, i put away the bottle.

My dad used to work as a cab driver and that lady was always calling me to ask if he could take her to the doctor’s. It was irritating and i ended up blocking her. But i think God used her that one time.

I never liked it that my dad worked as a cab driver and spent all that time alone with women passengers. It must have bothered me every night for about 23 years.

I don’t know how my mom could handle that. Perhaps i’m far too insecure.

The point is i was suicidal then, but i’m not now. And maybe most people around me never even notice i’m there, so it’s hard for me to part ways with my guitarristas, because they gave me the impression that they cared.

I guess i can always conjure up my imaginary ex-boyfriend. I wonder what he’s up to these days.

I Didn’t Actually Kill Anyone

It’s a strange feeling when you get near a peak, turn around to take in the scenery and realize you accidentally pushed your partner off the ledge a long time ago.

(This is a metaphor; i didn’t actually kill anyone).

Not that they would have died in this metaphor situation. No. They just dusted themselves off and went on as if they never really knew you.

But whatever you did- you didn’t do it on purpose. So now you’re stuck somewhere by your lonely sorry ass self, hating all off your own fibers that stitch you together. But it’s ok, because you deserve the pain. You should have never tried to bring anyone along for the ride.

Who needs a soulmate anyway? Soulmates aren’t even a real thing.

I mean, i’m bilingual, and i have fundamental knowledge of at least two other languages, and i’m learning a 5th. So i have a pretty broad pool of people i could potentially communicate with. Now if we take a 10 year cushion on either side of my generation, how many people were born in that 20 year span that i can potentially relate to?

Now how many of them are vegetarians?

How many of them are musicians?

How many of them share my general view of the future?

How many of them could guess what i’m thinking when i can’t remember the right word?

How many of them have similar priorities?

I’m guessing about 1.5 billion people were in the initial soulmate pool. Let’s assume about 95% of those are still alive.

So about 1.4 billion people.

About 22% of which are vegetarians. Equals 313 million people.

No one knows how many musicians there are on earth but lets say that out of 50 people, i know about 5, myself included.

So that brings us to 31 million people. .001% of whom might share my religious convictions. Equals 31,350.

About 11% of that is how many people i can speak with fluently... 3,348.5.

Not counting me, that’s 3,347.5 potential soulmates. Roughly around 0.00004% of the earth’s population. One out of every 25,000 that i meet.

Obviously i can’t measure things like chemistry or the way the color of the sky bounces off their eyes, or the warmth of their voice, or the angle their lips curl at when they laugh, or the way they carry themselves when they think i’m in any potential danger… Or the way they rip my heart out when they realize i’m not who they expected.

But none of that matters because i would have pushed them off the ledge regardless.

So that brings us to 3,346.5.

I wonder what percentage of people are irreplaceable.

Triangles and Sandwiches

Today was kind of a funny day. I ran into my old high school crush and i invited him to lunch with me and my husband and my little teenage girl friend. We were at a church event in the parking lot.

He was a lot quieter than when i last talked to him aone. But that’s understandable- he’s always been on the cautious side of words, and he might have been nervous about finally meeting my husband.

We were pretty close in high school, but a year after his graduation, he eloped with an older woman. Didn’t hear from him for 19 years, until last summer, when they moved back to the west coast.

Early on in the conversation, i noticed my friend’s (a.k.a. soulmate’s) car parked a few feet away. The windows were open. I didn’t see anyone inside and since he is in the habit of leaving his car unlocked, i started to plan what joke i would play on him, all the while my husband and my high school crush got to know each other better.

Finally i announced that i was going to play a joke on my friend, but my husband and little teenage girl friend cautioned me that he was probably asleep inside the car. They were right. Though i really can’t confirm that he was asleep. It is quite possible that he’d been eavesdropping the whole time.

So i scratched the joke. But when i realized that he could probably hear everything we were saying, i wondered at our curious circumstances. There i was with the man i am legally bound to in this life, reconnecting with the first man i ever thought i loved, being listened to by the man i wish i could be with.

The day would have been strange enough with just one or the other, but all three?

My husband was very cordial to my high school crush, and nice to me all day. That was a relief.

But every now and then i see him a little worried about my relationship with my soulmate. Like today after the whole ordeal, when i went up to my friend’s car, knocked, and gave him a granola bar. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. He has his life/family. I have mine. We are never alone. There is no occasion for anything else to develop.

Then again, life does have a very funny way of bringing people together. But nah.

Growing Up George: Ch. 7 The Missing Drink

Autumn in the Potato Falls district comes more chilly than in most parts of the country. There were already patches of white lining the slopes beside the straight wide roads that seemed to disappear into a horizon of mauve ashes. Some of those shortcuts into the woods would be shut down in a few weeks. By then all the fires northwest of here would have been put out.

In order to test our research and collaboration skills, Meztli and I had been given the most unimaginative assignment in Journalism ever. She herself turned out to be highly developed in the aforementioned skill set, while lacking in the latter. I guess you could say we were like Lois Lane and Clark Kent, except I couldn’t fly, didn’t wear glasses and there was no chemistry between us. I picked her up one Saturday to head toward the campus library at the university, which she said had public newspaper records dating much further back than the ones at our small barrio library.

As I took the back roads to avoid traffic, she kept asking me to slow down to take pictures of the landscapes.

“What do you do with all those anyway? Instagram?”

“No. I just.” Then she trailed off into her own quiet world again. She was playing Coldplay off her phone speaker and singing all the chorus parts when we passed a waterfall, I’d say about two stories high, right off the side of the road.

“Hey! Slow down! I didn’t get a picture of it!”

“This is already gonna take us all day.”

“Why didn’t you warn me it was coming up?”

I hate it when girls raise their voice for no reason. “…I didn’t know I was supposed to warn you.”

“Well go back.”

“We’ll pass it on our way back.”

“Ok. But you better promise,” she whined.

“Or else what?”

“I’ll tell Cindy you’re in love with her.”

I felt myself blush. “What makes you think I am?”

The end of the song “Yellow” was coming up. She ignored my question and rolled down her window. The brisk icy breeze swept in and blew some strands of her hair against my right arm.

“It’s true,” she sang to the crop fields. “Look how they shine for you…”

‘Ok. Whatever,’ I thought to myself. But if Meztli, whom I’d only known for about a month, had noticed my crush on Cindy, I could just as well assume everyone else had noticed it as well.

The song ended. “Are you asking her to homecoming?” she asked.

“What’s homecoming?”

Meztli laughed at my reply. She had this contagious, heartfelt, warm laugh but rarely seemed relaxed enough to share it with anyone.

After proving we were relatively local high school students and being given access to the archives, Meztli took over speed reading and sorting, assigning me the menial task of photocopier. A couple hours went by like this when she asked me to go get her a latte.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to drink in here.”

“Just sneak it in your backpack. Here,” she pulled out a money purse with a scene from the anime Death Note printed on it. “Buy yourself something too.”

I ignored her generous gesture altogether, emptied my backpack and headed toward the elevator. As I waited there, I complained, “We’re gonna get kicked out. Watch, we’ll be banned and your college application’s gonna be rejected. With giant red letters. REJECT.”

She laughed again, but this laugh had more of an evil undertone. “What makes you think I’m applying to come here?”

I was still in line at the cafe when she texted me: “Hurry up. I have to show you something.”

“I’m still in line.” SEND.

“Make it a double,” she replied. “Urgent matter requires your immediate attention.”

“4 people ahead of me.” SEND

My phone vibrated again: “Ask them for the chocolate swirl thing. And HURRY.”

Our assignment was to collect statistical data on complaints about air quality. Even if she had found a lawsuit filed against the government in the 50’s, it could hardly merit the excitement she was ensuing.

I ordered her the latte, unaware that it was twice as expensive as the ones back home. I even asked them to put one of those chocolate graham straws. When they told me the total I had to cancel my own drink. There is this saying, that there is more happiness in giving than in receiving… I can’t say I always get that.

When I came out of the elevator, she walked up to me and held up an unfolded newspaper in front of my face. The date was July 27th, 1996. The headline read, “Lara Murder Remains Unsolved.”

I grasped the paper out of her hand as she pulled off my back pack. I tumbled over to the nearest seat. The article- I can still see the print now clearly as if it were right here before my eyes-  stated:

“Potato Falls sheriff Mark Credenza issued a statement yesterday in which he gave a timeline of the events that probably led up to the death and apparent murder of local Hispanic woman, Angelica Lara. The body of Ms. Lara was recently found in the county dump by a scavenger entrepreneur who has asked to remain unnamed. Her family reported her missing on June 16th after she did not return home from her high school graduation celebration events. Friends say they saw her enter a vehicle at about 9 PM that evening- the vehicle belonging to her ex-boyfriend, who is currently being questioned regarding the case. Ms. Lara is believed to have been sober and not under the influence of any other substance, but an autopsy has yet to prove otherwise. The body has visible marks of distress, though authorities anticipate the results of the autopsy will be mostly uninformative because of the time that has elapsed. Ms. Lara’s disappearance led some classmates to misinform investigators that she had ran away from home, while close friends have affirmed that would have been entirely out of character for her. She is survived by an older sister and son of six months.”

“You didn’t order a drink?” Meztli’s voice had some sort of out-of-body intercom type effect to it.


“You didn’t get yourself anything at the cafe?”

“I drank it on the way over here. …Meztli, where’d you find this paper?”

“With all the other ones. Hard to miss. You know, cause of your last name and it’s the Sunday paper and all that.”

“You think this is about my mom?”

“Was your mom’s name Angelica?”


“So what’s the population there, like, 1000?”


“So what are the odds of there, like, being two Angelica Lara’s murdered the same year in Potato Falls?”

I clenched my teeth and hater her. I hated Meztli with all my might that instant, but for reasons far beyond me. I didn’t want to punch her or anything, I just wanted to concentrate my hate and fear of my past and ignorance on someone, and right then and there, she was someone.

She must’ve noticed something in my face because she put her hand on my shoulder, leaned in and whispered, “You deserved the truth.”

Our eyes met behind my held-back tears, and the hug that followed numbed my hate, at least for a moment.

“Whoops.” She had spilled some of her latte on the paper. “We should probably take it with us anyway.”

“NO,” I protested, but she stuffed it in my backpack along with all the photocopies, and headed toward the elevator.

“Come on,” she looked over her shoulder, “Let’s go ask Tío Jorge about this.”


Too Charming for Myself

Last time the a/c technician came to the office, he kind of asked me for my phone number and i kind of said No.
Today he is here again and i think i made him cry.
I told him no one told me he was coming.
It is unnerving for a guy to just show up and want to come in, and i think he got sad.
I just passed him down the hall and gave him my best fake smile i have to offer.
Charmed, no doubt.

This morning i went to do ministry work which is done this way in my congregation:
Whoever is a member of that congregation or an active member of another congregation can meet at a set time at our hall.
In our hall it is only in the mornings and since i work most mornings and oversleep the other mornings, (without mentioning the mornings on which i do both), i tend to only make my own arrangements and go out in the evenings.
But i try to show up Fridays and Saturdays to the group meetings when i can.
Today only one brother was going out in the ministry.
He is a Vietnam Vet and has a lot of stories.
(We don’t go to war but that was before he studied the Bible).
He is retired and married but his wife died twice and the paramedics brought her back to life.
(“Oh Well,” he says).
Now she is overweight and can’t really walk anymore, so he is always alone or with this single younger brother who is a little socially awkward, but i’ll leave his stories for another day.
So this brother is from Central America and he’s always contrasting his childhood on a coffee farm with the time he spent in trenches in Vietnam.
Later in life he had other jobs, the last of which was a lawyer.
Today we were speaking with a genuine hippie, the kind you only find in Ojai, Seattle or Oregon.
Mr. Hippie owns a big property (big by California standards) and feeds wild animals from scraps he finds in the neighbors’ trash bins.
He bathes in the creek or ocean with his clothes on.
(Thank God).
I’m pretty sure he was stoned the whole time we were talking to him.
You see, people round here are not that nice.
But he invited us to take a seat and the brother i was with was telling him his war stories while a woman who rents a room on the property overheard and was visibly disgusted.
That is the problem with people round here.
No one wants to hear the truth.
They just want to paint butterflies on their walls and build water fountains out of rocks they find in their neighbor’s driveway.
Still, despite his probably being stoned, we had a good conversation about making conscientious use of the earth’s natural resources.
He pretty much thinks everything humans do is damaging and we are bound to destroy ourselves.
I tried to read him a couple verses from the Bible about the future but if you are a woman, perhaps you can relate to the following:
There is a point when a woman is having a conversation with a man when you know he is dismissing your opinions as not having any serious weight to them because he is seeing you as a sex object.
Confirmation of this suspicion came when he proceeded to ask me my age.
What the hell, you go talk to people about God and stuff and guy just wants to know if you’re young enough to bear his offspring.
Of course i only put two and two together because he held his gaze for too long.
I was uncomfortable but the brother i was with didn’t seem to notice and kept sharing war anecdotes.
I don’t mind that the brother strays off topic because i wonder what his mind would be like if he didn’t have anyone to share his traumas with.
He could be one of those homeless guys who heckle my friend and me at the park.
Vets have been through a lot and though i am opposed to war, they do not get the social help they need- that is more than obvious.

I am still adjusting to the local small town artsy culture there is here.
I still haven’t decided if i have any friends yet.
One sister whom i spend a lot of time with and yeah, she’s pretty cool, kind of keeps hinting that she wants to see my twitter account but i don’t think our relationship is there yet.
At least i’m not.
(My account is public but i dunno. It’s a big step).
There is a sister who i was getting along great with but last time i saw her she kind of got on my case about not meeting in the mornings and i am the kind of person that usually doesn’t reply… but the more i think about it, the more i wish i had said, “Uhm some of us have to work.” and possibly even be more insulting because she lives off a trust her husband has and he is a little bit disabled, and she doesn’t work because she has asthma.
I have asthma too but i work.
So it is just irritating when people pressure you to do more and you already feel like you’re doing the best you can and instead of asking how they can support you, they focus on what you can’t do.
Don’t get me wrong, i love everybody, at least in theory.
But when things like that happen i don’t have anyone that i can talk to about it because i am supposed to be this model minister who gives discreet answers to stoned hippies and doesn’t tell off the homeless guys who heckle her at the park, she doesn’t tell people to mind their own business when they ask about her personal schedule and she doesn’t talk about her bouts of depression because she is supposed to be always happy and smiling and encouraging and God i hate everyone, i swear everything i do is all out of love to God and no one else.

Advice on Befriending a Married Person of the Opposite Sex

If you are a married person,  don’t invite your spouse’s ex-BFF to dinner telling your spouse last minute when said ex-BFF has only kept in touch with you but ignored your spouse for the last five years.

And if you are the ex-BFF, don’t keep in touch with your ex-BFF’s spouse for five years after you called your then BFF to tell her she is a whining, self-serving hypocrite while she was at school and you’ve  made her cry in public and then ignored her for five years.

Just saying.

Are you an initiator?

Are you typically the person who initiates conversations, texts, relationships, sex, etc?

Or do you like to be on the receiving end?

Some of us don’t have much of a choice.

If we don’t initiate, we could go years without human contact.

I am not naturally an initiator.

Being shy and with low self-esteem my whole life,  I can think of a dozen reasons off the top of my head why someone would rather not be contacted by me.

But there are some people I’m willing to initiate for, because if I don’t,  I’m afraid I’ll lose them.

There comes a point, though, where I become exasperated.

I wind up at the corner market pigging out on chips and taramisu for lunch.

This is something I'm happy to initiate.

One recent example of said exasperation is my supposed BFF.
She got divorced in April but has been disconnected from me because she has been talking to this new guy I don’t approve of.
She’s never been a clingy friend, but it’s like she only calls when she has guy problems.
I told her I was buying a house in May and didn’t hear back from her til yesterday.
She only texted me because she’s depressed that she’s cut off contact with the new guy.
I see the pattern clearly now, though I ignored it for over the last five years.

I was arguably rude, I think,  cause after a few texts back and forth,  she didn’t reply.

Eh. I’m used to it.

But that’s not why I’m pigging out right now.

That’s because I just saw through my coworker.

She keeps asking me to move patients to an earlier time and then sabotages the schedule so I have to call them again and move them back to their original time.

I decided to take a long lunch and let her deal with her own mess for a change.

I don’t have sisters and was never really close to my cousins growing up,  so maybe that’s why I have trouble getting along with most women.

Not sure why I can’t get along with men, though.

That’s a whole ‘nother mystery for a different food binge.