Make New Friends, But Keep The Old...

Yesterday I got lots of well wishes from friends, new and old.

But one in particular was a pleasant surprise.

I have a childhood best friend who I don't talk to very much any more. She's still one of my favorite people in the world, but life has drifted us our separate ways. We live a good 5 states away from each other so we can't exactly get together for coffee or dinner.

It's interesting how our relationship has changed over the years. In High School, we did everything together. And I do mean everything! From fourth grade on, we shared large chunks of our lives. But then I went off to college and got married and started having kids, and she went off to Europe and has been working and finishing school. And oddly enough it wasn't till after we graduated High School that we really started being honest, I think. We've only seen each other a very few times in the past 10 years, and we only talk every few months. But I think there is more trust between us now. We've had discussions that we never would have trusted each other with in High School. Basically, I miss my friend. And yet I recognize the irony that some of our best communication has come after we no longer see each other.

Yesterday, she called me. And in a day where I felt grouchy and crummy, that few minutes of conversation before she went to work...that was just what I needed to give me a little boost and change my outlook.

Here's to friends, new and old. Sometimes, especially the old.

Verbosity And A Sore Throat

I'm amused at myself.

I always do this when I get a new journal, or start a new blog. For some reason it seems like a momentous occasion, and I tend to get verbose and poetical in a silly way.

"A new journal! I...I must think of something witty and fascinating to say! Uhm...hmmm..."

But now that ice is broken, I've popped the cherry, and I can get down to simply writing whatever.

Like, isn't there a rule somewhere that you can't be sick on your birthday? I'm sure I've read something to that effect, once upon a time. And yet there is this persistent sore throat this morning, in complete and blatant defiance of any such law.

I demand a refund.

Presenting: Me

There is a single microphone, centered on the stage. It waits as I stare past the footlights to the rows of emptiness. The musty silence will wait patiently, forever. Nervous fingers caress and arrange pages of their own accord. They are blank, and I will write on them.

My approach echoes loudly in the darkness, and I stand alone in my personal spotlight. A tap, a breath into the microphone, and I begin:

Hello, here I am, this is me making a promise to myself. My insecurity, secured. Locked up, throw away the key. Perhaps it will break out occasionally, but it is not welcome here. I cannot claim that I will write blinding brilliance, or perfect poetry. Just, thoughts. Perhaps often, perhaps not. But I'm here now, and life will take it's course. Who knows, this may become a simple catalog of my days, of my husband and children. But of course, there in, I can be found. I choose, to always find me.