The Sweatshirt

From 2000ish

I've heard that one should go to where one wants to be in life, and find a mate there. Interests and goals are more likely to coincide. Great theory, unless you work with the person and live next door in a town of 700.

What do you do when the relationship fades and the friendship sours? What happens when co-workers and students think you'll be together forever, but you only talk politely when passing in the halls or when discussing a student? What happens when the pounding in your heart that you used to feel as you walked past his classroom turns to dread, thinking of the many silent evenings without the playful pounding as he waited at your apartment door? When you've angrily and sadly returned all of his things that you possibly can, and have quietly requested the return of each item he has borrowed, what gestures are left for venting?

A couple of years ago, he brought me a sweatshirt from an educators' golf tournament. I don't golf. I thought it was weird that we had matching sweatshirts. I wore the gray cotton/polyester politely, in my apartment or while on errands. It sat in my closet as we grew closer as friends, etc.

Within the past month or so, the sweatshirt has gained a peculiar use. So have a pair of red-handled paper scissors and a little blue trash can. I'm not a violent person. I am not imagining him as the sweatshirt, or any such symbolism. It's just that I'd rather not relieve stress by walking through town with tears streaming down my face; it's much more functional to have two pointed blades and a cotton/poly blend at my disposal. And I can nod politely when we pass each other in the halls; I know the sweatshirt waits at home.

Cinnamon Rolls & Guatemalan Coffee

My home smells like my grandma's house. I came back in after walking B to her car, and coffee and bread scents wafted into my nose.

Home. This is my home.

It helps so much to have friends to show around; helps so much to look at a couch and think, "So & so sat there, and we talked about this and this." I belong here, and I can welcome others into it.

I feel like a loser those times when Facebook is my only friend on a Friday or Saturday night, and I'm careful not to comment anywhere with a time stamp so people won't realize I didn't have anyone to socialize with between seven and 10:30 on a weekend. But B came over today, and Bkl will be over tomorrow. Beautiful A helped me for more than two hours last Sunday as we got ready for my mom's 60th birthday celebration.

When I realized today how long B had been here, it occurred to me that even though I don't have a group of "hangout" friends, I have "three hour" friends. Dear God, thank You for these ladies.