Sunday, February 19, 2012

Sitting on my a$$

My friend Tony and I have known each other since high school.  We carpooled, flirted, and had an abortive relationship in college.  He was the first of only three (oh-so-lucky) people to feel me up, and now I'm afraid to e-mail him.

We drifted apart, as high school friends do.  He followed our relationship with an Ivy League doctorate, while I followed it with a depressive breakdown and a bachelor's degree from a state college.  Last time we talked, he had moved to San Francisco to work in his field-- lucratively, I assume-- around the same time I was settling in as a receptionist in our hometown-- not so lucratively.

A couple weeks ago, the guilt of losing contact intersected with a moment of bravery, so I sent him a message on Facebook: "What's up, dude?"  He wrote back: "Lots!" and I was sore afraid.

It isn't just that I'm freaked out to hear that he's wildly successful and maybe even married or engaged.  (Please let that not be true.  That he would be so serious about a relationship with someone I've never even heard of signifies that it's truly been a very long time since we talked and that I'm simply not a part of his life.  Which I know to basically be true, but I think of him as a close, dear friend, wherever he is in the world, and that we'll always reconnect, unlike the high school or college friends that I'm well shed of.)

It's not even that I'm scared to admit I'm still a receptionist.  I'll be embarrassed to try to justify my 40 hours a week by talking about social media and the company's website.  It is what it is.  I have enough faith in Tony that he won't look down on me, or think that I'm stupid, or blow it off.  He'll ask thoughtful questions and try not to selfishly overwhelm me with his terrific life.

What I wish is that I could tell him that Heather was pregnant.  I wish I had something concrete that says, "My life is moving forward."  It's with that same notion on which my relationship to my alma mater is based: I can stop judging myself for dropping out, stop feeling embarrassed to represent myself as having a relationship to the school at all, stop fearing that the sight of the school or its students will break me into a million failed pieces.  I've said for years now-- which says something about this baby and this blog-- that, once we have a baby, I'll take Heather to see the beautiful campus while I carry our sweet child in a Baby Bjorn.  It'll be a tangible success.

Right now, though, I can barely manage to scan my alumni newsletter, and I'm still psyching myself up to e-mail Tony.  (He said he didn't have time to write me all his news yet as he was visiting a friend in France.  Fuck.)  I don't even have the minute developments that make up this highly-specific blog.  Oh, hey, I did throw out a giant bag of plastic speculums that we'd bought...  Well, before Nurse Nina rejected them, we lost the first metal one, and we got the next that we've used for a lot of un-fun exams.  Undoubtedly Tony will be delighted with those details.

I need a nap before I can think more about this.

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