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.
Sheesh.
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.

1 comments:

Jason said...

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