The number of times a day I do something horribly awkward that causes me to want to hurl myself off of a cliff is much higher than it should be. Perhaps the mark of real, deep, true friendship is that I have these people with whom I presumably behave the way I behave all the time, and around whom I do horribly, terribly, cliff-hurling-offly awkward things � but I don�t want to hurl myself off of a cliff. Perhaps I can judge how well a friendship is forming by how often I want to kill myself from embarrassment in my new friend�s presence. According to that scale, there is one young gentleman in my life with whom my friendship is going quite poorly. Others would suggest this is not entirely my fault � I would suggest they may, in fact, be wrong.
I would like to say that I can handle the fact that I am completely failing at a social interaction. I would like to say that and have it be true. It is not. I would like to say that I�m making lots of other bus friends and non-bus friends and friends in general and that all of these validate me just as much as the one friendship that got away. Perhaps, when I stop being an idiot, this will be true.
Maybe it�s that Sara and I just finished watching The Good Girl. Maybe it�s just that some days, even if your lovely roommate returns home, and you have lovely people come visit you for a belated birthday celebration, and everything is wonderful � you�re just having a less-than-perfect day, and that all catches up to you when it�s three am.
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