I believe in mermaids, and everything I’ve seen while hallucinating. I love that about myself. I don’t argue to prove they exist, and I love that, too. I lost a friend recently who I truly admired; not to death. I’m a year behind a schedule I set for myself when I was sitting at a desk right out of undergrad, but years ahead of the schedule I set for myself while walking by a canal in Amsterdam. And I love all of this.
I’v been in love a few times, some more potent than others, but none I want to forget. I talk about friendship more than I talk about anything because it’s important to me. I’m proud of my ability to form lasting relationships with amazing people. I want them around forever. I’m still the outsider of all my groups. I bring cliques together, but never join. Except the one from college.
I’m not anti drug, and I’m starting to come around to wine when paired with something. Saying “paired” lets me know I’m getting older. I want to start seeing a therapist regularly just to have someone to talk to who isn’t emotionally invested in me. Maybe I’ll hire someone off craigslist to come and sit on my couch to watch House of Cards with me and just listen to little tidbits I drop.
I still look good on paper when it’s necessary to write me down, and I’m starting to love California. I know how necessary it is to sometimes cut people out of your life, but I haven’t mastered that yet, and I accept meetups I shouldn’t. Jill says I tend to put on dirty drawls, and I should stop.
I look forward to old age because it means I can see my kid and future kids and friends’ kids grow and carry torches or ignite flames. I get to see what they’ll do with that I left. I made sugar cookies out of whatever I found in the cabinet last week when snowed in in DC.
But that’s me. And I like me now. I’ve always liked me, and that makes me lucky and happy.