What is it about girlfriends that make us all weepy, drippy, sniffly fools? Here I was, minding my own business, playing with my iTunes, when a friend comes over, bearing Magnolia frosted goodies. All of a sudden, I’ve consumed an entire box of kleenex (the good kind, with the real softness built in, like the puppy says) and a my second glass of pinot, and my eyes look like I walked out of the Tyson scene in The Hangover.
Granted, it was my first night in the apartment by myself, and I’m glad to have her. I wasn’t sure how it would feel coming home after a week to a shared place I must pack up shortly – but knew I was grateful to not be lugging a bag to 42nd St. I approached our stoop, and looked at the buzzer that bears both our last names. That was like taking a bullet.
But I persevered, watched some old 30 Rocks (I dare someone to name a better comedic actor than Alec), and was doing ok. Until the doorbell rang. God love her. It’s 11:10pm, she’s still sitting beside me and working on a paper for school. I checked my email to find two high school friends who have read my blog and felt compelled to write to me. Their stories are private, but gave me such a renewed sense of strength, the strength you can only receive from those not seen in 14 years – those who feel it necessary to cross that threshold of time and tell you that you are going to be just fine. A million times, thank you.