And So It Goes

These days, I really miss having a best friend. I have good friends, I have close friends, I have work friends and church friends and kids in my classes at school friends. I haven't had a friend described as best since the day I packed up boxes and moved to Gainesville. I miss Ashley Olive. I miss how I told her everything, and I miss how she told me everything, and I miss how we laughed and cried and did the things people do when they know they are best friends. Peas and carrots, we would say, we're just like 'em. Last night, as I was letting go of everything and crying to Jill in the ladies' room of the Presbyterian Center, I missed Ashley more than I have in the whole of the three years of our separation.
I had thought that talking to someone would help me to feel better, but it didn't and I feel worse. I feel sad and unloved, and I don't know if the tears are because of allergies or emotions. I feel fat because my jeans are tight in the thighs and because the pudge in my stomach pokes out of the waist. So, I chew gum and drink diet soda to keep the edge off of hunger. I feel unpretty because my hair is bad and my eyes are sad and puffy from crying and the edges of my mouth are turned down in a permanent frown. And, I feel tired and achy and I wish the day were over and I was home and safe in bed.
But today is not over and I will trudge through the rest of it and I will have lunch and then yell at myself for eating and being weak and I will go to class and go to the ghetto and go to see Kirsten in her play and then go home and yell at myself again because the house is messy and cold and finally, finally, I will pull on my flannel pajamas with the dogs on them and the warm knit socks I got for Christmas and grab my sad book and crawl into bed and wait for the day to start over again.
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