Pink Panties, Kings, 3 Lelia Rd and Funny little dances.
I have turned into a full-blown adult, with a career, my own flat, my own car, a stable relationship and a monthly income (albeit small- Shannon?!). I do a monthly budget on a spread sheet. I do grocery shopping once a week and leave out all the luxuries that I can't afford. I record my petrol usage in a log book and claim expenses at the end of each month. I report to a boss, I pick up parcels at the post office and I do my own laundry and house-keeping. I can have a fruitful discussion with a stranger at a cocktail party. I attend cocktail parties. I can talk about the economy and recount statistics to anyone who will listen. I know a bit about most things, and am a fast learner. I only buy clothes when I have had a really bad day and I sit at home, on a Friday night, happy that the working week is over. I wear a signet ring, proudly displaying my family crest. I make notes, one month in advance, to take my car in for a service. I cook a meal for one, most nights, and I do my own banking. I am a mature, capable adult.
Don't be fooled. This may sound exciting. It really is not. Being a mature adult robs me of some of the things that I have only now realised I have lost from my life. You see, while I am so busy doing my laundry, cooking my meal for one and writing in my petrol log book, my old life goes on without me. A life of hangovers and laughter, cigarettes and white wine, high-heeled shoes and short dresses. I have substituted coffee with black tea; Dunhill Light with Virgin Active, YDE with Woolworths. I have replaced Fallout Boy with Yo Yo Bar and Tiger Tiger with 'The Bachelorette'. In growing up and becoming a mature, capable adult, I have lost some of the things that have made me so happy over the years. (Don't worry Mum, I haven't started smoking again- you can stop dialing my number).
The one thing that has made me so sad over the last two years is the fact that I had lost touch with some of my closest friends. Call it 'being busy', 'drifting apart', 'moving on' or 'growing up'- they all mean the same thing...you lose touch with the people that you love to spend time with. At first it was my new job that got the better of me and stole me away from them. Then, each day, I forgot what it was like to spend time with them. I forgot what it was that we talked about and doubted the fact that we could ever have been 'that close'. After months, (and to my disgrace, years) of not keeping in touch and disregarding invitations from them, I was faced with the feeling of fear to see all of them again. Questions raced through my mind: "Is it going to be awkward?", "what will we talk about?", "Can I make an excuse if things are unbearable?", "is it going to be the same?".
There was one thing left to do: Eat a bowl of cement and "harden the fuck up". Truth was, I missed all of my friends so badly it was making a hole in my heart. Neither my new friends, the iron-man, my family or my job could fill what I was missing. It wasn't pain or heartache. It wasn't desperation. It was remorse that I had let it get to this point- the point where I had a hole in my life that only one thing could fill- my friends. So I mixed myself that cement and ate it spoon-for-spoon. I made the call, got the directions and rang the doorbell. I climbed the stairs and turned the corner to see the faces that my memory knew so well. And just like that, as bacon melts into the pan and fills the room with a smell you cannot mistake for any other, I felt like no time had passed at all. Several hugs and nicknames later, the questions that I had wondered about before were replaced with one sobering statement: " They know me".
They know the things about me that most people don't know. They know exactly how I like my coffee and what my favourite food is. They know the type of clothes look good on me and won't lie about how big my ass looks in a certain pair of jeans. They know how I put on my make-up and that I am obsessed with mascara being perfectly applied. They know that I am the last to get ready and take the longest time to get dressed. They know when I have had a bad day and when to leave me alone to be a dark thunder cloud. They know that I am a shy person and that talking to new people is difficult for me. They know that my dark hair makes my eyes really green and that Blonde hair didn't really suit me. They know that I can say really stupid things sometimes, but always forgive me for them. They know how to make me laugh and they share my high-pitched, over-excited voice just before a big night out.They know my shoe size, that I am fanatical about rings and they know about 'norman'. They know how I drive and what music to play in my car. They know my handwriting and what marks I got at Varisty. They can predict what I want to drink at a club and what kind of movies I will like. They know that if I borrow money I will always pay it back- even if I have forgotten about it. They know my darkest secrets and my biggest fears. Every crush, every broken heart, every embarrassing moment. Every thought, every move, every emotion. They have seen, and know them all. They know me.
In turn, I know them too. I know what to say when they have had a bad day and when they need coffee. I know if they will eat before they go out and what they will buy at the petrol station at 3:00am. I know their laughs, their favourite sayings and what is going through their minds when they make a 'that' face. I know that a certain song gives them energy and which song they (and I) would sing if we ever had to audition for Idols. I know how they like their passion fruit and water and that some of them hate drinking water because it tastes funny. I know what they look like from behind in a crowded room and I know when to let them be when they have had a bad day. Their hopes, their dreams, their moments. I know them.
Shame and anger at my own inability to be the bigger person all these years grips my throat but something loosens that grip and I can breath again. I feel like the fact that I have reconnected with my dear friends somehow allows me to carry all of our memories with me again. For so long I had packed those memories into a box, sure that I had ruined my chances of ever going back there. I had accepted the fact that I had grown up into an adult and that we had all changed and moved on.
Truth is, although I have moved on and grown up, the things that connect me and my friends is not something that burns down like a candle. It's not something that runs out like toothpaste. It's something that takes work and effort and understanding and love- but something that lives and breaths just as we do every day. Like a cup of coffee (Jose: Milk, three canderal; Caity: Milk, two sugars; Lu: Lots of milk, two sugars; Ken: No milk (milk allergy) no sugar) friendship sometimes needs 30 seconds in the microwave to get it back up to boiling point. It's something that takes a bit of work and some extra effort when life gets busy. It's something that can so easily fall down the back of your desk- only to be rediscovered when you move on.
For me, my friendship with a handful of my best friends has bitch slapped me right in the face and reminded me that there is more to life than work and my salary and Friday nights on the couch. A good friendship lets us be who we are and not who we think we need to be. For me, re-heating my friendship with my best friends has filled that sorry hole in my heart and reminded me that I don't need to carry the burden of being alone and broke and sad all on my own- I have people who know me, and who actually enjoy having me around, to colour my life like a big box of wax crayons.
That fact alone feels so freaking good- I could do a little dance right here, right now. But I won't... I'll save it for the dance floor, or the cocktail bar where we order pink drinks together amidst a flurry of laughter and perfume.
This post is for you girls: Josie, Caity, Lu, Ken-pop, Sar, Cheryl (Meg), Julz, Em, Al, Flop, Bridge and Katrie- for anyone that I have left out: Aplogies. xxx
Don't be fooled. This may sound exciting. It really is not. Being a mature adult robs me of some of the things that I have only now realised I have lost from my life. You see, while I am so busy doing my laundry, cooking my meal for one and writing in my petrol log book, my old life goes on without me. A life of hangovers and laughter, cigarettes and white wine, high-heeled shoes and short dresses. I have substituted coffee with black tea; Dunhill Light with Virgin Active, YDE with Woolworths. I have replaced Fallout Boy with Yo Yo Bar and Tiger Tiger with 'The Bachelorette'. In growing up and becoming a mature, capable adult, I have lost some of the things that have made me so happy over the years. (Don't worry Mum, I haven't started smoking again- you can stop dialing my number).
The one thing that has made me so sad over the last two years is the fact that I had lost touch with some of my closest friends. Call it 'being busy', 'drifting apart', 'moving on' or 'growing up'- they all mean the same thing...you lose touch with the people that you love to spend time with. At first it was my new job that got the better of me and stole me away from them. Then, each day, I forgot what it was like to spend time with them. I forgot what it was that we talked about and doubted the fact that we could ever have been 'that close'. After months, (and to my disgrace, years) of not keeping in touch and disregarding invitations from them, I was faced with the feeling of fear to see all of them again. Questions raced through my mind: "Is it going to be awkward?", "what will we talk about?", "Can I make an excuse if things are unbearable?", "is it going to be the same?".
There was one thing left to do: Eat a bowl of cement and "harden the fuck up". Truth was, I missed all of my friends so badly it was making a hole in my heart. Neither my new friends, the iron-man, my family or my job could fill what I was missing. It wasn't pain or heartache. It wasn't desperation. It was remorse that I had let it get to this point- the point where I had a hole in my life that only one thing could fill- my friends. So I mixed myself that cement and ate it spoon-for-spoon. I made the call, got the directions and rang the doorbell. I climbed the stairs and turned the corner to see the faces that my memory knew so well. And just like that, as bacon melts into the pan and fills the room with a smell you cannot mistake for any other, I felt like no time had passed at all. Several hugs and nicknames later, the questions that I had wondered about before were replaced with one sobering statement: " They know me".
They know the things about me that most people don't know. They know exactly how I like my coffee and what my favourite food is. They know the type of clothes look good on me and won't lie about how big my ass looks in a certain pair of jeans. They know how I put on my make-up and that I am obsessed with mascara being perfectly applied. They know that I am the last to get ready and take the longest time to get dressed. They know when I have had a bad day and when to leave me alone to be a dark thunder cloud. They know that I am a shy person and that talking to new people is difficult for me. They know that my dark hair makes my eyes really green and that Blonde hair didn't really suit me. They know that I can say really stupid things sometimes, but always forgive me for them. They know how to make me laugh and they share my high-pitched, over-excited voice just before a big night out.They know my shoe size, that I am fanatical about rings and they know about 'norman'. They know how I drive and what music to play in my car. They know my handwriting and what marks I got at Varisty. They can predict what I want to drink at a club and what kind of movies I will like. They know that if I borrow money I will always pay it back- even if I have forgotten about it. They know my darkest secrets and my biggest fears. Every crush, every broken heart, every embarrassing moment. Every thought, every move, every emotion. They have seen, and know them all. They know me.
In turn, I know them too. I know what to say when they have had a bad day and when they need coffee. I know if they will eat before they go out and what they will buy at the petrol station at 3:00am. I know their laughs, their favourite sayings and what is going through their minds when they make a 'that' face. I know that a certain song gives them energy and which song they (and I) would sing if we ever had to audition for Idols. I know how they like their passion fruit and water and that some of them hate drinking water because it tastes funny. I know what they look like from behind in a crowded room and I know when to let them be when they have had a bad day. Their hopes, their dreams, their moments. I know them.
Shame and anger at my own inability to be the bigger person all these years grips my throat but something loosens that grip and I can breath again. I feel like the fact that I have reconnected with my dear friends somehow allows me to carry all of our memories with me again. For so long I had packed those memories into a box, sure that I had ruined my chances of ever going back there. I had accepted the fact that I had grown up into an adult and that we had all changed and moved on.
Truth is, although I have moved on and grown up, the things that connect me and my friends is not something that burns down like a candle. It's not something that runs out like toothpaste. It's something that takes work and effort and understanding and love- but something that lives and breaths just as we do every day. Like a cup of coffee (Jose: Milk, three canderal; Caity: Milk, two sugars; Lu: Lots of milk, two sugars; Ken: No milk (milk allergy) no sugar) friendship sometimes needs 30 seconds in the microwave to get it back up to boiling point. It's something that takes a bit of work and some extra effort when life gets busy. It's something that can so easily fall down the back of your desk- only to be rediscovered when you move on.
For me, my friendship with a handful of my best friends has bitch slapped me right in the face and reminded me that there is more to life than work and my salary and Friday nights on the couch. A good friendship lets us be who we are and not who we think we need to be. For me, re-heating my friendship with my best friends has filled that sorry hole in my heart and reminded me that I don't need to carry the burden of being alone and broke and sad all on my own- I have people who know me, and who actually enjoy having me around, to colour my life like a big box of wax crayons.
That fact alone feels so freaking good- I could do a little dance right here, right now. But I won't... I'll save it for the dance floor, or the cocktail bar where we order pink drinks together amidst a flurry of laughter and perfume.
This post is for you girls: Josie, Caity, Lu, Ken-pop, Sar, Cheryl (Meg), Julz, Em, Al, Flop, Bridge and Katrie- for anyone that I have left out: Aplogies. xxx
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