Grrrrrrrrr face

First, I thought it might have started with the broken Nordic pole (and the fact that the one person I know can fix it without sending it to the company is in Italy).
It could have been a result of not getting a sufficient raise in brain endorphins. The walk lasted all of a half-mile.
Maybe it started with low caffeine levels in my system (I left my French-pressed coffee on the counter).
(Not even my $2-a-day crack addiction, called Rock Star, did any good; and not to get good joy – and a buzz – is just wrong).

Later, it came to me.
I spent Monday lost in a funk – angry and sullen – because I shipped $100 to a person who said the $40 here and the $50 there (which was for charity, for chirssakes) wasn’t really a gift.
That there was a score being kept.
And that friendship came with a cost.

That even when the whole money issue was brought up in the first place, I blurted out “I’ll send you a check.”
And with all my life has going on, promptly forgot about it.
Until the person emailed to ask when that check would be in the mail.
That’s what I emailed back.
And didn’t bother to finish the rambling response.
I asked that the person not contact me ever again.
I sent the $100 – five twenties in a little thank you card – Monday. Just to be done with it.
Still, it pisses me off.
That $100 represents my grocery budget for the month.
It represents the little desktop laser printer I desperately need to buy.

It represents the difference between true friendship and, well whatever the fuck the opposite is.

Because friends do things for friends without having to keep a scorecard, or a fucking guest check.

As much as I wanted to wallow in a stew of black clouds and furrowed brows and “fucks” that came out randomly, like little spears, or the venomous fangs of a rattlesnake, I couldn’t. Because people kept checking in. They kept me in their thoughts.

One friend asked if I’d go to spin class.
Another asked that come over and share slow-cooked carne asada.
One asked if I could go to lunch.
One asked if I shouldn’t go ride off the mood on the Westside Trails.
Another asked if I just wanted them to come over to have a beer.
And a conversation.
Or even a good cry.

I thanked them all and begged off.
I went home and hugged my dogs.
I walked with them.
I ate a salad and drank some soothing tea.
And filled the bath with warm water and soap bubbles and read a book.
Turned in early, too, and slept.

In the darkness before the dawn, I let it go.
And vowed to let it all go.
And just take down my pants and slide on the ice.


Anonymous said...

Watch out... that is going to make your butt R E A L L Y cold.