High School Friendships

High school relationships get a really bad rap--like "dramatic" or whatevs. But, honestly, I never experienced much of that. SVC--one of my prized HS pals--just got an iPhone, so we've been Emojiing all day. Duh. We've been talking about how we met, and I just want to give a shout out to how spontaneous friendships can be in high school, and how truly great that is.

HOW WE BECAME FRIENDS:

-We had English class together, and one day everyone was supposed to be silently reading The Scarlet Letter. We weren't. We were both looking around the classroom, and then at each other.
-I used to mismatch my shoes in HS. At first it was an accident, and then I thought it was cool. Trendsetter, what? SVC was the only person who noticed.
-He remembers some time when the teacher turned her back, and I flicked him off. I have no recollection of this, but that doesn't mean I don't think it happened.
-We started saying "hi" in the parking lot before school.
-He was a captain on the debate team, so his AIM was on a whiteboard in the team room. I copied it in my planner, and we would IM at night.
-We read each other's Livejournals.
-We decided to hang out some Friday. He got my number, called me, and we ended up watching Biodome with a bunch of people.

And then we became best friends. What!? But, we did.

SINCE BECOMING FRIENDS:

-We helped each other establish academic ideas.
-We traveled to Scotland.
-We've coached each other through break-ups and other crisis, near and far.
-We listen to and respect each other's opinions.

Some real, adult, solid friendship-type ish, y'all. Based on goofing off in class and a Pauly Shore movie. Friendship can be anywhere.


This is us at the first gathering of HS pals after we'd been exposed to college.

Be Comforted

Cozy couple in PJS in VA.

Comfort. Capital C, sunny days on bicycles, chocolate cookies at the grad student picnic with Hill, trotting up to our favorite professor's door, being invited in for sits and thoughts.

The Comfort of the subpar but all-you-can-eat chocolate froyo and brownie squares at Sweet Tomatoes. "I want to be fat," I told Smirn. The Comfort of my home here. How it feels to punch in the code on our garage, taking an envelope out of my stationary drawer, knowing there is one pine cone stamp left for this letter Michigan-bound. The people I've met, and how they've turned into the people I can insult, or hug, and how it feels just right.

"You will begin to understand that healing is an effect. It's no longer the object of your intention. It becomes the unavoidable side effect."--Michael Pabst

Driveway's Clear, You Pray for Silence

I love this bedroom. The one I'm in and the one pictured--which was my bedroom in the fall of 2009--the first time Kay and I broke up. In these rooms I learn to be lonely and like it.

On Saturday I came home at midnight with a headache. No roommates were home. I had accidentally not really eaten all day. I took my box of Ritz crackers up to my room. I was my nurse. Get into a tank top, wet a washcloth, lay still, say a prayer of thanks.

I remember those first nights in Fall 2009--those nights of "No one even knows what I'm doing." I expressed this concern to Muff, who told me to call her and let her know when I was going to bed. I took her up on it. A few times. But I didn't really need to be accountable. I needed to know I could.

I texted her this week. Even though it was 3 AM her time. I let her know--I'm going to sleep, and someone should care. Because I am a living person, and for a while, I won't be conscious. PLEASE SOMEBODY CARE--there's an urgency in realizing you could die in your bed, and no one might realize until three days later.

I think that's right. Sometimes I don't see the roomies for a week straight. My sister would say, "Hey. It's been a while..." but what could she do? Who would she be able to call to check up on me? Chelle would probably call. If I missed rehearsal, she might come over. If someone was home, they'd come to my room and...

I have this wonderful, just wonderful, memory of that 2009 room. It was a Friday night and I was just writing a letter at my desk holding my hamster in my lap.

Today I woke up lonely, and now its midnight, and all sorts of things have happened to let me know I'm loved. Impromptu hellos from no fewer than seven--not an exaggeration--seven faraway friends. I sure liked those lil hi's, but I didn't gulp them down. This is good stuff here on my own.

Letters to Noelle--
marked up cardboard boxes fell.
I fell with them.
Crushed like them.

Watch Your Mouth

Two weeks ago in Theory class, one student--full disclosure, one the rest of us don't know (because it's a class of two playwrights, five Theatre for Youthers, and This One Chick)--said, "This is gonna sound retarded, but--"

And Rabbit laid down the law. Not rudely, but curtly, she said--deadpan--"Can we not use that word?"

I know, for a definite fact, at least five of us had been thinking it, and we breathed a sigh of relief that it didn't have to be us. Ahhhh, grad school peers. The only community where I'm not the most annoyingly PC.

Flash-forward to today:

Our Theory professor says, "We only have five weeks left." I lift my eyebrows. Whoa. Time flies, and my peer with the tiny red curls shrieks, "Jesus Christ!" and This Chick gasps a "Wooooow." I think she agrees with us that summer is so sudden, when she tacks on a, "Can we not saaaaay that please?"

My peer peeps a sincere sorry, and then a "It's just, I'm surprised..." Trail off.

This REALLY bothers me, and I know it shouldn't. We did the same thing to her--we aligned and made her feel bad for saying A WORD. Just a little word that alludes to disability. But it was unforgivable. It was also unforgivable to me that anyone ask anyone to care if the full name of a Biblical character is said aloud. But, I suppose it was That Chick's right? I mean, my peer agreed to being inappropriate by apologizing, did she not?

JESUS CHRIST, why does this bother me? Why are words so powerful? Why do I despise people who say certain things and despise even more the people who despise people who say certain other things?!

Mad Men Premiere, Age 23

A la 1960s. Smirn smoking.

I am an adult. I come to this realization with equal satisfaction and terror: satisfaction because I always thought growing up would be miserable, and it's not, but terror because it could just be a matter of time. As I get older though, it seems unlikely.

I am an adult. Yesterday night I invited friends over to watch the season premiere of a historical drama about the 1960s on AMC. That's very adult! This surprises me! My age is legal adult! It has been for years, but, still, I go, "What? Me?"

I am an adult. I invite people into the condo I pay rent for by tending my own schedule of work. I buy my own tomato sauce and make my own pizza rolls. I find recipes for chocolate vegan cake puffs, and I make a double batch.

I watch adults on TV--adults who, if they were real people--would now be in their 80s. But they are childlike. Moreso than me even--because, I am an adult...maybe not all the time, but, actually most of the time now.

I am an adult and I know when to turn down a trip out for milkshakes because I have grading to do before school starts again. Farewell, Spring Break. I'm an adult who knows not to try to clean the hot cooking pan right away, but also how to scrape away the burnt chocolate under the faucet.


We dressed up.

Reality

Last Spring Break. Watching Mad Men with Nac in North Carolina.

Think of how much time and energy you waste worrying if you're doing the right thing, when you could really just do the right thing. Do your best and feel comfortable about it--no one can fault you for that.

Triangles

Monday.

The above is not a great photo of me and Muff, but it's us in our element. Chatting and writing together. Wearing trashy clothes. Hair mussed. Cozy. It's important that I show you this photo because it's an act of humility to say, "Yeah, this is actually how we look most of the time we're together. IT'S NOT ALL PHOTO SHOOTS IN CHERRY BLOSSOMS."*

IDEA FROM MUFF: Our issues exist in triangles.
The three sides are pride (we are boastful of this thing about us), but also insecurity (but we know this thing could be damaged, or go away, or others might not see it like we do), and judgement (because we have this thing, we find it ridiculous--literally--that others don't.)

An example might be a very pretty girl who is prideful, but also knows wrinkles are part of life (insecure), but still, she judges others with plain faces.

If you've got one, you've got 'em all. And these triangles can really break us. We stand in the middle of an idea and yoke ourselves to three contrasting but conjoined feelings. OR, we can break these triangles. And humility is the magic hammer, y'all.

*I accidentally typed "Cherry Clossoms"--which could either be a delicate tea cookie, or a lesser-known Japanese monster a la Mothra. "NAN DESU KA!? CRUROSSUM DESU!"