An Honest Inventory of My Friendships

Sooo I talked to KS for the first time in…4 years? Ever? Not sure. It was such a feel good moment, but not in the same new-friend-rush as with WB. It was the old friend; re-bonding, with an emphasis on the ‘re’. She’s got a darker life than I thought – financial and emotional problems, just being so much tougher than I’d ever imagined. I have this new respect for her, and despite her flaws (and there are many), I want to keep her close…just one of those people I really want to know and be close to. ENFP all over.

Also, I went star-gazing with YM and had really the first conversation with him, as well. Not quite as much, because honestly, I may or may not see him as slightly more than friends (or I’m insecure about how much he wants to be friends), so there’s that. He’s another of the want-to-know people, but he’s so difficult to get to know, I feel. He told me he’s not always jolly, like he seems. Like with ED, I feel like he has this nice-ness almost as a defense mechanism, so that no one knows his home life or problems, but also because he’s the kind of person who doesn’t want it to be about him. I guess I was kind of like that. And, honestly, I have no idea what Myers-briggs he is…my intuition tells me I, but he’s outgoing, even if it’s just because of his kindness. F, I think, because of how he was with his girlfriend. I wish I knew him better.

I called KD and ranted to him about my mom, sort of asking for advice just to justify my call as more than just a rant. Also, drama. I feel like there’s always miscommunication between us, because he’s so wrapped up in people and social traditions. With the whole Myers-Briggs thing (which I’m embarrassingly knowledgable about), he’s an ESFJ (with an S to the max. Actually, an everything to the max.) I feel like I need KD to boost my self-esteem – to text me, to hang out, to be all warm and friendly and awesome. But his values and the things that matter to him, and how he goes about them – they’re so different from mine.

I’ve been texting WB and he’s actually been responding regularly, I think because I basically complained that he takes hours to respond. It’s funny; I think our whole relationship was based off of this ‘don’t let the other know how much you like them’, so there’s always been this sort of disconnect. It’s something that annoys me to the core, and I’m working on it. We’ve invited each other to a few things, which is a start. Myers-Briggs? Um. ENFJ, but the T is questionable, and the J’s become a P, and he’s pretty introvert-y often, and he loves working with his hands. I really, really don’t know. I feel like he’s been raised in such a perfect environment that most glaring flaws that usually give away certain traits have been prevented, or mitigated. I am both hopelessly envious of and constantly attracted to him. Don’t take that last part sexually. Attracted in the same way I’m attracted to certain people; I really want to know them inside out and I want them to know me.

PD and I’s relationship bothers me a little – no substance. I’ve never actually talked to her. We kind of just need each other for our weekly runs, and meaningless banter. S all the way. J all the way. I think T. E or I, not sure. I tend not to mesh with S’s – I seem them as short-sighted and bogged down with things of daily life that don’t matter. But then again, I think I’m an S.

BTW, this post started out as just about KS; the titled changed around four times.



“The last is a 1975 recital that he gave at the very end of his professional life. Critics have uniformly savaged it – Sachs calls it “banging, disjointed and sloppy” – all true, and yet although Rubinstein was 88, nearly blind, in precarious health, and with diminished energy (he skips the last movement repeat), he plays his heart out and manages to conjure a degree of abandon and risk that transcends his comparatively sterile studio forays. Forget the wrong notes, stuttering rhythms, unbalanced voices and jagged phrasing – and there are loads of them – as well as the thin, distorted and compressed sound. This is an intensely moving document that – despite its many flaws – indeed, perhaps because of them – throbs with the composer’­s humanity and overwhelms with its sense of soulful communication.”

Quote from


Pentatonix Christmas songs. O Come, O Come, Emmanuel. Aspiring to my sodding take on Carol of the Bells.

Too much Buzzfeed.

Comforting AD about Pakistan. Burnt cookies from EMC.

No friends. Where to go at lunch? Empty. Off-campus. Actually talking to ED. Getting ignored by WB and being absolutely sick of it.

Shooting stars with KD and YM.


“What is this quintessence of dust?” (2.2.332)

“O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.” (2.2.273-275)

“I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.” (2.2.401-402)

“Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretched heroes the beggars’ shadows.” (2.2.282-284)


I come out of a band concert, the entrance is a beach-cliff like thing, with a steep hill down going along the wall. It’s steeper than it was when I’d come in. There’re plastic square – handles on the wall, and for some reason, I hold on to the these as I go down the wall, turning over and launching from handle to handle. The scene is close, sensory – there are people in front and behind me, waiting, not having problems, but all I can see is the close-up confusion of the spinning handles.

There are waves at the bottom, and they splash me as I traverse the hill. I complain. Finally, I plop into the water, where I feel so free – I swim, tread water, splash and feel the warm water. Like the swimming pool, that one sibling-less morning.

JL’s there? EL’s there. We’re all waiting for our parents to pick us up, in the water. It’s dark. We’re in some sort of neighborhood, at the end of a cul-de-sac. It’s getting late. I forgot to call, but I do now. People are leaving, and home is far. EL leaves – I think about asking for a ride, but I don’t.

It’s just me. I’m alone. It’s dark, and the water is terrifying. I swim, looking for shelter.

I call EL. I can see her, in the car, in my mind’s eye. I ask, “How far are you from here?” She’s far. It’s only been 10 minutes or so, but her family has a Tesla, and it travels extremely fast. I don’t explain why I asked, I just nod and hang up.

I swim, and see MC and some kind of church boys youth group. With WB’s pastor, ID (AD’s bro), and that friend group. They’re on a retreat, of some sort. They take me in for the night.

That’s it, I think.



So much angst. So much anger and thoughts and dreams wasted over her.

Need some reminders? My unofficial best friend, freshman year. I trusted her, put so much into that friendship, made myself so vulnerable, all for the first time, because of course I had (have) trust issues.

And then she wasn’t.

It just…ended. She stopped greeting me. She stopped laughing at my jokes. She acknowledging me. She dropped her eyes away when it was time to pick partners, and she was out the door for lunch before I could pack up my stuff.

I think I held on for a while. But eventually, you got the message, you know?

I never knew why, really. And as time went on, I forgot the details. Had we just grown apart, a natural slide away? Or had we fought?

Anyway. Sophomore year was just me, being hopelessly sad and jealous and over-analytic. I would see her being happy and be so angry, like she didn’t deserve to be happy. I would watch her go on with her happy little perfect life, being cute and nice to everyone but me. I didn’t wish her well, at all. I went through phases of being envious of her and pointing out all her flaws, telling myself how much better I was.

I avoided her all junior year, got on with my life, had a blast.

And then, senior year. I remember going to all my classes, my heart sinking as I discovered that she shared four out of six classes with me.

With mutual friends galore and a similar intelligence level, we inevitably had to talk. Which we did. And we got it to a pretty happy surface-y level.

Ok, new stuff now.

She gave me a ride home from church the other day – just her and I, in the car, listening to reflective music. And she opened up about her not-perfect (but, ok, near-perfect) home life.

And as I got out of the car, right before I closed the door, I stopped. I turned around and poked down and just asked. I asked why we stopped being friends.

And she looked shocked. “Do you not know?” she said.

I didn’t.

She sighed. “Get in,” she said.

I did so.

And she talked.

Our friendship had been so competitive. She hadn’t liked the vibe.

And that was it.


She hadn’t liked the vibe. So she ended it. Did she know that she pushed me into depression? Did she know that I needed her? Did she know that she was half the reason I question religion? Did she know that she made my life miserable? Did she know that what she did left me friendless and walled off to others for two years?

Does she even know now?

I left her car happy for the closure. I’d somewhat forgiven her a while ago (or, at least, I’d stopped wishing that she’d fail).

But with thinking, I grew angry. She has no idea. She doesn’t know what she did – to her, the friendship wasn’t beneficial, so she ended it. Like an app she didn’t use anymore: delete, gone.

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know.

I’d moved on. I’m trying to re-forgive her. I’m trying.