The most exciting thing that happened to me this week is seeing a half-dozen female turkeys stroll across my patio. Yep. That’s the boring life I lead these days. What’s there to complain about when I have a bathroom and a kitchen? A story without conflict is ho-hum. See previous blogpost about the sci-fi writer.
Speaking of the writers’ group, I returned on Friday evening. It was a “study hall” night, two hours of working on whatever. I showed up on time and set up my laptop. Eventually Vicki, the leader, arrived. While we chatted, a third person entered the room. I think her name was . . . Lena. Louise. Linda. It doesn’t matter, take your pick. Big white glasses, piled up hair, a wildly colored print blouse! Now here was a real writer!
We got busy. I don’t know what they were working on—we didn’t talk. I continued an editing project I’d started at home: a dissertation candidate’s proposal. I have only one speed, that’s head down, teeth gritted, and only one mode, bite it and shake it until the candidate cries uncle. I did all that and got it done and sent by the time the study hall ended at 6:30 p.m. Job well done. Vicki warned me next week was “show and tell,” or words to that effect. Even though the idea makes me want to puke, I’ll show up. I’m not a quitter.
Speaking of dogs with bones, the theme of the week seems to be letting go. Mainly letting go of old friendships. Did something get into the water? Two of my friends said they are purposefully jettisoning friendships they suddenly realize aren’t working anymore.
I could speculate if I’m one of those friends that will be getting the shove out of the friendship truck, but if you know me, you’ll know I don’t really care that much. If someone doesn’t want to be around me anymore, that’s okay with me. Why suffer? Odds are, I don’t want to be around them either. Win-win.
Friendships that stop working gradually fade so far into the rear view mirror, they drop off the contact list. I’ve had some of those. Being the introvert that I am, rarely do I feel anything but heartfelt relief. It’s like climbing out of a muddy hole in the sidewalk. Time to walk down a different street.
Over the course of my life, I have collected a few close friends, people from my childhood, from high school, from L.A., New Mexico, and Arizona. These friends are the ones who love me despite my faults, the ones who will cheer me on, the ones who will share their stories with me and listen to mine. I treasure these friendships and work to keep them alive, even if we only talk once a year. Like old friends do, once we refresh our memories, we pick up where we left off.