PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

whatever makes you happy my friends

Thursday, Sept. 22, 2005

My best friend is someone that I didn’t actually ever meet for 17 years, but I carried her in my heart for every one of those years the same way I have for the last several since I have met her in person.  I will never forget how I was a ball of nerves as her plane landed but then within ten minutes of her standing next to me I knew that it was just her, the same her that I had loved and cherished as a friend all along.  It was a gift to have her next to me, it was great to see her mannerisms and connect the dots, but they were not really all that important in the end.  They were interesting and filled my goofy heart with joy, a joy that I cannot ever in a lifetime explain because she was pretty much my only true and real friend for all of those years and all of the years since. 

 

Recently she’s had some rough moments in her life.  Moments that have not gone unnoticed by myself.  When I think of all that she must be going through I suffer.  I suffer silently and like the goofy heart that I am, I try to find the words when I really just want to drive over to her front door with a pot of tea, a couple insanely funny movies and sit and manhate and bitch and laugh and giggle and play like little girls having a sleepover.  When these things happen in her life I hate the nature of our friendship, but I am also far too aware of how precious it is to me to hate anything about it for longer than that pang of a moment when I wish wish wish I could be knocking on her front door bringing some sunshine to her world. 

 

I am that kind of friend and yet..my friends, true friends are rare.  The type of people that I would absolutely bend over backwards for whilst humming Beethoven’s fifth, those are what I call real friends.  The sort that I don’t stop and wonder but just move into action for the sake of my heart remaining true to itself in the act of doing anything, something…meaningful for my friend in need or my friend that just lives in the not all vacant rooms in my soul.

 

I love this friend I speak of.  I love her more than I ever loved my own mother.  I love her more than I ever  knew my own sister.  I love her and I often try to tell her, to explain it…and I know I always always fall short.  There is not a time I get to verbally speak to her that I do not tell her how much she means to me.  I stumble and stagger through my words and feel like the goofball that I surely am to care so much for a person that has weaved through my life for over 20 years now with ease and simplicity and yet without societies norms.  I have fond memories of her and they don’t contain Sunday’s in the park, or movie theaters in the dark.  They contain moments and feelings and emotions and life’s ups and downs and I know her better than I know myself sometimes.

 

Recently in a lame effort to let her know that while I can’t knock on her door I can be a good friend I mailed her a card.  It was probably sappy, it was probably a lot of things prior to my sending it.  But once I sent it I felt somewhat better about my lacking ability to jump a plane and give action to my care for her.

 

About ten days or so later I got this in my email

 

Hey there,

 

I just went to the mailbox and got your card.  Thank you so much.  I really don't like to be talking about my grief all the time, I hate to be that one that everyone dreads to talk to, cuz all I talk about is my problems.   But thank you for your card.  Its good to know that someone out there is thinking about me.

 

:)

 

This made me smile so long that my face actually started to ache.   I may not have quantity in the friend department.  I may not have a gaggle of girls that will stand next to me at my wedding.  But I do have my soul mate in the friend department and she’s flying in from Toronto and I will never ever thank her enough for it.

 

Recently someone was asking on her blog why we choose to read someone else’s blog.  What draws us in.  I’ve had a few really good friends online that I adore and truly care about.  If I care about someone I tend to treat them the same way I would a person I’ve physically met.  I think I’ve done this easily or perhaps easier than most because of my friendship with my aforementioned friend.

 

Those people know who they are because I will tell you, with much sap and much embarrassment of my dorkiness of heart that I care about you, respect you and plain just like you for you.  I am a doofis like that.

 

And if you are my friend I wish only for you to be happy.  I wish some of you nice hot coffee, I wish other’s less heartache and more happiness, I wish even other’s happy and healthy boys and even more so I wish some of you cheaper by the dozen photographs and your cracks, imperfections, unique qualities…that’s what I see and they are absolutely fine by me, because….well because if you are my friend trust me when I say that I am trying that much harder to be a true friend in return because I already like you just the way you are.  To C., K., S. you guys inspire me often and you my friends rock and I love ya because you are the who’s that you are.  Know that I would sit down and have dinner with you and your family in a heartbeat, which would make ME happy as all get out!

 

Whatever makes you happy
Is exactly what you will wear
I wouldn't dream of changing you
For a minute or in a year
Whatever makes you happy
Is exactly how you will stay
Whatever makes you happy
Is okay

P. Westerberg

 

 

7:43 p.m. ::
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