So, I was talking to a coworker today, about life and love and all of that. It was pointed out to me that I don’t have any friends outside the office. It was also pointed out to me that WH and I don’t do anything together that doesn’t involve other people, and haven’t for so long. A quick perusal of my archives proves that there was a time when WH and I were always hiking, camping, fishing, taking photos, taking drives. Save a wildflower trip or two this spring, it’s been at least a year since we’ve done anything of the sort. That R & B have solidly left me behind in their outside of the office plans, and I need to be very clear here: that is probably 90% my fault, so I’m not casting blame. Just the facts and all that.

I’ve had periods in my life like this before. Problems, pain, doubt- they do not make me an attractive person for friendship. Until a year ago, WH was most certainly exempt from any of this. He was my best friend in the entire world, forever and ever, and that was so comforting. With that basic friendship lying dormant, it has just really hit me today how very alone I am in the world.

This coworker didn’t point that last part out, and really, the conversation was not about that, it was just a discussion that naturally evolved to that point. I realized later that you, my sweet and lovely freaders, are the closest things I have to real best friends right now. Tricia, I’m looking at you, babe. The coworker said that they thought that my friend status was very, very sad, and at that moment it was. Still is, or I wouldn’t be writing this.

I don’t feel that way all the time, though. I don’t sit around at home and wish that R or B would remember making an offhand comment about calling me over the weekend. I don’t wonder what they’re doing, if they’re together, what I’m missing out on. I don’t even randomly wish that I had someone to hang out with. I just am. I do what what I feel like doing, or what needs to be done. I think a lot. I write a lot, here and elsewhere. I daydream.

A long time ago, I learned that you can’t count on other people to meet your needs. When they do, it’s wonderful, fufilling, magical. But if you come to expect it, or rely on it, you’re asking for trouble. Sometimes I think I could do a better job of being a giver in the relationship. Other times, I think that if I were, I would be much more hurt and angry when the time comes for them to let me down or leave me. Most of the time? I just do what I can to nurture relationships as I can- trying to strike a balance between not giving enough and giving so much that it’s too risky.

The scariest part, though, is that I can clearly see that for the first time in eleven years, WH falls into this category. I don’t know what to do about it, either. With R & B, it’s easy to just readjust my expectations, steel myself against possible rejection, but still have enough hope and love to stay friends. How, exactly, does one do that with a husband? I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but to his credit, I’ve not been anywhere near as clear or concise with him as I’m being right here, right now. I know why too. It’s because I’m afraid that he’ll just reject me. If I skirt around this issue, if I pick the battles but don’t acknowledge the war, I can’t get hurt too badly.

So, yeah, pity party over here this afternoon. Party of one. I would like the baked worms, please. *

*didn’t your mother ever sing you worm song when you pouted? “nobody loves me, everybody hates me, guess i’ll go eat worms……”