Something I can’t really relate to: people who are friends just because they’ve known each other since they were toddlers. Timeline doesn’t mean as much to me as does intensity or authenticity of connection.
I have acquaintances and friends of friends and I’ve been to weddings and birthdays and happy hours…
I feel like I SHOULD value those lifers more than others—in a peer pressure sort of way… but I don’t. We’ve shed the skin of our former selves like 18 times since we were shredding our knees on asphalt as 7-year-olds learning how to skate.
Is it insensitive of me to gravitate towards new, magnetic conversations? Am I supposed to feel comforted and warm by the boundaries of an existing friendship skeleton? Is knowing it’s there bear equal weight with knowing that chemistry means much, much more?
Godspeed, you default friends.
I… am a snob.
And, I know, there are levels of snobbery. I’m not a high fashion-wearing, valet-only (Cher Horowitz, anyone?), cloth-napkin-draping prima donna.
But, I have standards. I have standards so innate I was scarred by a poorly designed motel when I was eight years old. Fucking road trips.
You want me to eat at a place that has no online reviews? Totally side-eyeing you right now.
I’m very aesthetically sensitive. I need my surroundings to be beautiful, clean, organized. I need the fonts of the establishments I frequent to be well thought out. I want my food fresh and unprocessed and presented in a thoughtful way.
Also, I have the nose of a bloodhound and the tactile senses of that princess who couldn’t sleep because of that goddamn pea. There are 3 aggressive latte splashes wedged into the life of this Toyota Tacoma, hoping to marry a lukewarm bottle of artificially flavored lemonade.
Where do you import your pulp from, sir?
I am not fucking around. I want my bedsheets soft, my lighting ambient, my air purified, my clothing lint-free, and above all, the details attended to.
1. Try to determine if it was an actual “break up” or just a “situation.” Could’ve even been just a “thing.”
2. Establish a timeline. Break those interactions up into blocks of ACTIONS that could have inspired REACTIONS. We are gonna MAKE SENSE of this nebulous bullshit if it KILLS US.
3. Get opinions. Spew theories. Overthink everything from his instagram likes to his dumb outfit choices.
4. Blame yourself. Before you get angry you’ll probably reevaluate everything you said/wore/thought/non-verbally expressed like 3 months ago.
Emotions come in waves, in inexplicable jolts. You’ll want him to experience the same things you do. You’ll want your sad to seep into his Friday nights but the fact is, babycakes, we just aren’t made of the same material.
Resolution is a myth. You’ve got to keep growing and somehow simultaneously drag and shed those weeds that are right on your heels.
Let ‘em have their time
Sit back and let ‘em shine
Let ‘em rise and rise
Cause one day they’re gonna fall
Let ‘em soak in the sun
Sit back and let ‘em have their fun
Let ‘em spill their guts
Cause one day they’re gonna slip on ‘em
Well I could be angry
But you’re not worth the fight
And besides I’m moving on
I’ve counted to ten
And I’m feeling alright
And besides I’m moving on
And there was never a better time in the history of time for me to read this paragraph.