It’s January 4th officially now, 4:25 PM. I’ve just returned from yoga and i feel anything but invigorated. After writing last night’s blog about the importance of girlfriends in my life, I feel compelled to expand further on one in particular. Yes, I’m talking about my “Person,” the Meredith Grey to my Christina Yang... D.
I know some of my girls who are reading this might be put off that they aren’t first- (there are 361 more days in this year, Amie Canning, you’ll get your turn!)
I’m not exactly sure at which point we made the shift from just knowing each other to “people.” It’s fitting though, partially because we’re both obsessed with Grey’s Anatomy, and also because D is about as emotionally developed as a brick and relationship labels, even one has non-committal as 'friend' make her physically uncomfortable.
Some people find this quirk of hers a little cold and off-putting but it never bothered me. I appreciated being able to spend a day with someone without any implied “We have to hug now” at the end of it. I don’t have a problem with hugging, I just don’t like the way it’s become so expected. It's almost as if it'sreplaced the handshake as the standard greeting. In fact, I don’t even think I can remember the last time I shook someone’s hand and wasn’t instantly yanked in for an extended embrace. I don’t like it. Hugs should be earned or something. That’s my thought on the matter anyway... clearly, I’m in the minority.
This past summer I was dealt a pretty major emotional blow. Naturally, it had to do with a guy, (Bastards!!) I was betrayed by a man I had trusted in every way, including the one having to do with my bed. The details of the situation, while amusing, aren’t particularly relevant except for one thing that happened in the aftermath. Don’t worry, I didn’t try to slice my wrists or anything. No doubt I drank my bodyweight in alcohol but that was standard for me at the time; and even drunk I managed to keep the hysteria to a minimum. All in all, I handled the situation well, except for one thing. Somehow I developed a totally bizarre, irrational aversion to my bed. I could not sleep in, sit on, or so much as look at the thing. I couldn’t even get close enough to it to rip off the deep-purple bedsheets that still held his scent.
During the day it wan’t such a big deal. I moved my TV out into the living room so I only really had to go in there to use the closet. As for where I slept? Everywhere else. It’s an uneasy feeling, Not knowing where you’re gong to sleep on a given night. I always found a place though, because I had to; my own bed was simply not an option. I would stay at my mom’s or my sisters here and there, but they live far away so that wasn’t a sustainable choice. I also took an impromptu trip to California which gave me a few days respite. Mostly though, I stayed with D. She was exceedingly patient for a while, especially since I’m a bit of a blanket hog. It’s a good thing this happened over the summer or I may have found myself sleeping in the hall.
After this ridiculousness had gone on for a few weeks, D decided it was time to get me into my own bed again... even if it mean she had to sleep there with me. I needed to relax for this one, so we went to the Irish pub that’s adjacent to my building and I began pounding coronas. Once sufficiently wasted, we went upstairs, climbed into that bed, and... (all you filthy-minded readers out there who are expecting some kind of lesbian porno scene to follow, prepare to be bitterly disappointed...) I slept. I made it through the night not only unscathed, but well rested. I haven’t been afraid of this bed since; in fact, I’m lying on it right now and I couldn’t be more comfortable.
The point I’m trying to make is that when I got involved with this person, the whole thing felt so wonderful that I began to associate love with him. When that relationship turned to shit it only made sense that the love was going with it. I got so caught up in the loss of that love that I wasn’t seeing how much love there was right in front of me; being put forward by so many people to help me through this hard time.
Having this “Person,” this “emotional brick,” totally adverse to mush, come through for me in such a way made me realize that even though Mark was gone from my life, love wasn’t. And that real love may not always show up in the most obvious of places, but it shows up.
Thanks, D. And I’m glad you’re my person.
D gets different font?
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