You were totally ridiculous.
There I am, in clothes I grabbed from the bottom of the “clean” heap that is growing like a landfill on my bedroom floor. My eyes as puffy as marshmellows, wrinkles like fault lines criss-crossing age spots, hair ragged and indecisive. I’m struggling to make ends meet, find work, keep chaos from crumbling my sanity.
Next week I turn 35, and I tell you how I haven’t accomplished the things I’d hoped to do by now, and it just feels crappy.
If I could only insert a YouTube video here now of your response.
You kind of started to do one of those car dances people do behind the wheel.
And you started brightly chanting in this giddy skippy way that was completely unreasonable for a Chinese restaurant – something like:
What are you talking about? You’re a single, working mother, you got two fabulous kids, you got great hair, you’re smokin’ hot, you’re super smart, you’re on your own …
You made it sound like these were GOOD things. No – not just good – admirable, sexy, and fun.
I am still laughing.
And that’s what I want to thank you for. I don’t for a minute believe any of your compliments – though, thank you – but making me laugh my ass off at my life – making me imagine, as bizarre as it is, for a minute that the circumstances of what has felt like utter failure and hell were things to be thankful for – to celebrate – to car dance about – well, that’s something to cherish.
You lifted my spirits. You injected me with some of your sassy vibe. You’re crazy, but I love you for it.
Funny how sometimes we can get so wedded to our self-sculptured concepts of who we are – like having one of those drama masks over your face with a permanent frown or smile, despite the reality underneath.
Sometimes it takes someone else pulling the mask up – or showing you a mirror – to remind you that you’re wearing it at all.
Here’s to Friday, here’s to reminding each other to dance and laugh at ourselves and not take everything so seriously. Here’s to friends!