I always thought that at some point in my life I would grow to respect love; that I would not only forgive every negative encounter we’ve had but I would also come to understand (and appreciate, even) its twisted sense of humor.
We would become friends…or at the least, friendly. If nothing else, there was definitely something for me to gain by cultivating a friendship with it. How does the saying go? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Yeah…that.
I’m still trying to understand how something I’ve worked so hard to keep distant has remained so relevant in my life. Everything else I manage to chase away effortlessly.
Most articles and self-help books encourage you to narrow in on the target (in other words “the problem”) – which if you haven’t learned by now is always you. I mean…if we are being honest, who really cares who’s to blame for your “dysfunction” once you’ve reached the point of consulting scholarly articles and books about yourself.
But I can’t seem to narrow in on anything right now. Pinot Grigio brought me here and my mind is all over the place. I’ve been thinking a lot about my friend’s death lately and I don’t know why. I’m also thinking about this pimple on my chin and how uncomfortable my cat is with forehead kisses. But neither is here nor there. Or maybe its all relevant and I don’t know…that would be life for you. I might start writing again…or I might delete this in the morning when I make love to sobriety. Either way, I miss you.