I have a best friend. Actually, I have quite a few people who fall under the "best friend" label. Which completely negates the idea of a superlative, but who cares? But this best friend. . . we started out on the same path, with the same idea: English major, grad school, marriage someday. I stayed on the path. She got married at 18. Her husband is now in grad school (MA/PhD track) and they have a 10-month-old daughter.
We met for lunch today. First time we've met for a year. And I didn't have much to say. We live in completely different worlds now. I didn't want it to be that way and eventually we did work up to a rapid fire discourse similar to years past. But my life revolves around me and my work--so does hers. Except her work is her daughter and husband.
Is this just the natural side effects of becoming adults? I had to wonder what she needed to know about me. One year is a long time. It's longer than a lifetime.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comments:
I feel the same way, Blue. It wasn't Wrong, but it wasn't the Right we've known. It was polite blundering, on my part at least. The only thing that will ever always span the span is the literature, and I fear I will not be able to keep up.
Reasons for my Peter Pan complex keep appearing, countered by scraps piled on the opposite heap. I wonder if they will ever even out, so the growing up and looking back all just stops.
Post a Comment