I am bored out of my skull these days. I’m dissatisfied, unfulfilled, bored, and discontent but that’s really a story for another day. Sometimes, to try and being some drama and excitement into my life, I do something irresponsible, like getting drunk by myself on a Wednesday night.
This past Wednesday was one such night. Sitting on the couch with only iTunes Shuffle and the internet for company, I got more and more nostalgic with every mouthful of wine and each song from the ‘90s that played and before I knew it, I was Facebook messaging absent friends.
One friend, I haven’t seen since July last year. Emails and texts have gone unanswered but like a pesky ex-girlfriend who can’t take a hint, I persisted. I promised myself that Wednesday night’s message would be the absolute last final no more not even one more message I sent. Pink Floyd’s On The Turning Away was the catalyst for the message: it came on Shuffle and instantly, it sent me back to 2007 when I was in Ireland and being very stoned late one night at said friend’s house when the song came on and a crystal clear thought entered my head: ‘Pink Floyd wrote this song for me right now in this moment. They knew I would be here right this very second and they wrote this song just for me’. It still amuses me.
I’m not sure what the catalyst was for the second message to the second friend. The bottom of the wine bottle, perhaps. I haven’t seen this friend since halfway through high school – 1996 – when she went off the rails. Spectacularly off the rails. Imagine the worst and then multiply it by a hundred. I was hurt and resented her for a long time but I guess there is some truth in the old ‘time heals all wounds’ cliché because I don’t feel angry anymore. And I certainly didn’t feel angry the other night when I messaged her. I haven’t even read over what I sent because I’m too embarrassed but I’m pretty sure it started with a sentence like ‘I need to preface this message by saying I’ve had the best part of a bottle of wine’ and ended with something like ‘because, fuck me, twenty years is a long time’.
Surprisingly, I heard back from both of them. The first friend has had her own problems (What? Not everything is about me?) and the second one, the high school best friend, sent me the loveliest, loveliest message. She gave a heartfelt apology (even though that isn’t what I contacted her) and suggested that we catch up. Even though I instigated it, I’m quietly shitting myself. (Gross.)
This should alleviate some of the boredom, shouldn’t it?