Fair-Weathered Friend

Dear former best friend,

Go screw yourself.

I've been nice long enough. I've apologized countless times for something I don't even think I need to apologize for. I apologized, because our friendship was more important than my ego. I apologized, because I wanted you back in my life, and I thought that was the way to do it. It's been three years. I'm no longer sorry. I'm not sorry for what happened three years ago. I'm not sorry for what I said. Because I meant it. And I still do. I'd say it again. I'll add this to it: you're a loser. We were friends in middle school. Good friends. And that lasted into high school. We were best friends for a while. Doing everything together. Going everywhere together. And then something better came along. It was years before we spoke again, and that was the way I wanted it. I was wounded. I was hurt. I was replaced. You fooled me once. Shame on you.

And then, some time about seven or eight years ago, we got back in touch with each other. We picked back up right where we left off. It was as if no time had passed at all. I had missed you. God, how I'd missed you. The past no longer mattered. I didn't care what you'd done to me in high school (I no longer remember what that was). We were adults now. It was behind us. I was ready to be best friends again, and I loved every minute of it. I asked you to be in my wedding, and you cried when you accepted. During the whole planning process, you had my back, made sure my horrific maid of honor had my best intentions at heart (it should have been you). You kept me informed, but shielded me from the really obnoxious stuff, so as not to stress me out more. You took me and my then-fiance out to dinner to celebrate. We took you out to dinner for your birthday (it was over $200. You're welcome). You moved away after the wedding. Only a couple hours drive, but far enough. I came to see you once or twice, and we had a great time seeing the city and exploring new things.

When my marriage fell apart, you were also there. I confided every single detail to you. I told you things I didn't want anyone to know. I told you how scared I was. I told you how embarrassed I was that it had only lasted a year. I cried to you as I told you how badly I felt for every single person who invested time and money into it. All the people who traveled far and wide to be there for me. The bridal party, who spent hundreds of dollars to be in it. I told you all my deepest, darkest secrets about my marriage, and about....Ben. You saw me falling for him before anyone else did. And you encouraged me to go for it. To explore it. You told me I was coming into my own. That I was no longer the person I was when I had gotten married. That I had changed. But, not in a bad way. I no longer wanted what I had wanted a year ago, and you told me that was okay. I had changed my mind, and there was nothing wrong with that.

You spent the night at my house during the end of my marriage. It was the first sleepover I'd had since high school, and it was fun. You never judged me. You never got angry with me (okay, maybe that one time). You never tried to steer me in the wrong direction. You were exactly what I needed during the most difficult time in my life.

And now what? Now, you tell me that I used you as a scapegoat in my divorce. Now you tell me that I made you feel like crap in your own home (because you lived off of unemployment and your boyfriend's student loans for a year while sitting around getting high all day without even bothering to look for a job). You tell me that I hurt you so badly, and that it's "black and white" for you, and that if I don't see that then we can't be friends. Look, I knew things were strained since my last trip out to see you (the one where you got high all weekend). I apologized to you that night. I apologized to you via text when I got home. I apologized via Facebook messenger a couple weeks later. And sometime last year, I wrote you a two-page letter apologizing again, explaining to you where my head was at the time and admitting the error of my ways. I wanted you back in my life. And since that last visit, we had talked a little. We had seen each other once or twice. I knew it wouldn't be the same, but I thought we were at least okay. Up until five months ago, you were still tagging me on Facebook.

So, when you got engaged last week, I excitedly sent you a text message congratulating you. I told you I was happy for you, and that I was sad that I wouldn't be able to be there for you in the same way you were there for me during my wedding. I said I was sorry that we'd drifted apart and I was glad knowing that the person who used to be my best friend was in the most loving and capable hands possible. And I meant all of that.

And then you wrote back telling me that you've been harboring these ridiculous feelings for the last three or four years. I call bullshit. Here's what really happened. You encouraged me to cheat on my husband, and then felt bad about it when I did (not your fault. Completely my choice). You moved to a cushy city with your important cousin (sorry, boyfriend) and lived off the government for several years while doing so (but, welfare was COMPLETELY out of the question, and "highly offensive" to even be suggested). Because of the fact that you didn't bother to work (and why did you need to, when everything was free?), you were "bored," so you decided getting high all day every day was the only way to cure that. You knew prior to me coming to see you how I felt about it. We had talked AD NAUSEUM about how much it bothered me when anyone did it. But, you didn't give a shit about that when I got there (sorry I ruined your "fun"). When your cousin/boyfriend got a nice new cushy job in a different city, you followed him there, too. Except, now he's even more important. Which, by association, means you are too. Congratulations. So now, I'm not good enough for you. I'm too low on the social ladder for you. I don't get to work with the president. I don't get to take you on tours of the White House, or have my name in lights. I can't do anything for you. I can't advance your life or improve your life in any way, so you needed some excuse, any excuse to get rid of me. To shed the dead weight. Good riddance.

Even during the brief time we were friends, I knew you were insane, but I loved you anyway. You added fun, and joy, and excitement to my life. You made me laugh. You encouraged me when I felt like shit. You stood by me when I made horrible decisions. And every other day, you were pissed at someone else. You were either fighting with MF, or a family member. There was always someone you weren't speaking to on any given day. And, like you, I stood by you through every single one of those ridiculous fights. I listened to you vent about how you were done wrong. I told you you were right and you didn't need that person in your life, the whole time thinking, wow, this is totally her fault. But, I never told you that, because you needed me at that time and I was going to be there for you no matter what. You're welcome.

Look, I don't regret being friends with you. I got to experience some things I wouldn't have otherwise. I got some really awesome years, and some really nice memories out of it. But, don't for a second expect another apology, or for any acknowledgement that I had any wrong doing this time. I did everything I was supposed to. I may have cut you out for a time, while I cleaned up the pieces of my terrifyingly broken life, but I never stopped being your friend. You're the one who stopped. You fooled me twice. Shame on me.

I genuinely don't care if you have a nice life. I don't care where you end up. I don't care if you ever get off your lazy ass, or if you let your boyfriend/cousin support you for the rest of your lazy life. I don't care. Because I tried caring. I tried being the best person I could be to you, and it didn't matter. Knowing all that you know, you still chose to believe what you wanted about me. You still chose to believe the worst about me, even though you knew me more intimately than anyone else ever had. You knew all of my thoughts, all of my motivations, my frustrations, my fears, my dreams. You knew where every tear came from, and how to get every smile. And you can still look back on all of that and think that badly of me. You don't get to judge me.

Is this petty? Probably. But, I don't really care. I have no doubt in my mind you went and spread all kinds of nice stories about me. The fact that you're still friends with my ex-husband's family on Facebook (and actually interact with them) shows that you picked sides a long time ago. All you had to do was be honest. All you had to do was talk to me. It was the least you could have done for me, given the honesty I provided for you on a daily basis.

Have a whatever life. I'll hear it through the grapevine.

Good News, Bad News

I write when I can, okay? I'm clearly not sticking to this once a week thing, so deal.

The last few weeks have been interesting. I've surprisingly been able to hang out with some people, and managed to finally get some good news in my life. For those who have been following, the law suit between me and my former landlord has finally been dropped. Of course, I have to pay them $1100 still, but it's better than the $4,000 they wanted. Someone who works for the bigger corporation that owns the complex got in touch with me and asked to speak to me about the case. She seemed genuinely confused about how the case had gotten this far and wanted to hear all of the details from my side. I got the impression it was the first she'd ever heard of it. She told me that when I gave my notice to move out, the property was in the middle of switching hands, which I predicted. She also told me I deserved much better customer service than I had gotten and apologized for that. She was confused about where the amount owed came from, since she said that even if I had paid rent until the unit was re-rented, I wouldn't have owed as much as they were asking me for. They were not only charging me for rent up until September (I moved out in June), but they were charging me late fees and utilities as well, which makes no sense at all. So, long story short, as promised, she "made it all go away." All that's left now is to sign the agreement and pay, and it's a done deal. Thank goodness.

I also recently met up with a friend from grad school. He's recently divorced and moving to Nashville. I remember him reaching out to me after my divorce and asking me some things. He suspected he was in for the same fate. And he was. We talked a lot about that when we met up. It's always interesting to talk to someone on the other side of things. See, in my divorce I was the one who had found someone else before things were finalized. In his case, his wife was the one. We both got a lot out of hearing things from the other perspective. He said a lot of things that I had thought about myself, and a lot of things that I had wondered if my ex had ever thought about. Just as I was the one in my marriage who did everything, he was the one who did it all for her. The cooking, the cleaning, the money management. He lamented the fact that she never told him that that wasn't what she wanted. He was doing everything for her, but he wasn't doing the things she wanted him to do. That made me think. I was doing everything for my ex, but I never stopped to make sure those were the things he wanted me to do. I did what I thought was expected. And so did he. Marriage 101: always communicate. He also told me that she reached out to him several months after they officially split telling him that she finally understood everything he had done for her. That was a courtesy I was never given. But, I always wondered if he did. I always wondered how much he floundered when finally left on his own. How many bills got paid late, or not at all? How gross was his condo, because he just didn't take the time to clean it? I never expected him to tell me he finally appreciated it, but I always wondered if he figured it out. Like I mentioned before, though, he's happy now, and that makes me happy. That was the whole point of the split. I'm glad he found someone. And I'm glad that she can clearly give him what I never could. We both deserve the happiness we've finally found.

I'm worried about things, though. Mostly, the future of this country. Ben and I often talk about the fact that this country will eventually be a third world country, and no one will care. The rich will still be rich, but those of us who live paycheck to paycheck will be the ones starving. Too many jobs are being sent overseas. Too many jobs are being lost to the world of the internet. (Stop shopping online!!!) I've had so many conversations lately about how Amazon is killing the publishing industry (please research it before you argue with me. You're wrong). But, I truly believe the internet has destroyed this economy, and I believe it will continue to do so. "No, no, the internet created jobs." Yes, it did. But for every job it created, how many did it destroy? Amazon created jobs, because there are people who need to work in the warehouse and process orders. But, how many retail stores went out of business because of that? How many thousands lost the only job they could get? I have a masters degree and I can't find a real, permanent, full-time job. There are people worse off than me. It's only going to get worse. When do we all start taking responsibility for what's happening? The rich don't care about the lower classes. They don't. They will continue to be rich no matter what happens to the rest of us. Because we're the ones paying them. It's those of us at the bottom of the totem pole, those of us who are pinching pennies and struggling to make ends meet who need to step up. We need to watch out for each other. We need to help each other, and encourage each other, and fight for the things that are being taken from us because we weren't born with trust funds. I always wanted kids. Badly. I still do. But, I think about what kind of future they might have and I wonder if I should. If things are this bad for us, what will it be like for the next generation? Will there be any jobs at all? What will they do? How will they live? My mind has been shifting a lot to adoption. Instead of bringing another child into this world who doesn't have a chance, perhaps I should just choose to love one who is already here and needs a better chance than what they have (even if it's not much better). I don't know. Everything is a mess, and it's depressing.

I want to leave the country. I've told Ben as much, but his response was, "it's impossible to find a job in another country." I said it can't be harder than it is here. And if all of our jobs are being sent overseas, I would imagine it's much easier to find one there. He wants to move to Switzerland, but he thinks it'd be too much to pack up our lives at this point. All I said to him was, "I'll follow you anywhere." I hate it here anymore. And with the rise of Hitler II, it's only going to get worse. We're ruining ourselves. We're ruining it for the future generations. For our children, and their children. This used to be a country to be proud of. The land of opportunity. What the hell is it now? I had to completely purge my Facebook page, because I just can't deal with the amount of intolerance there is. Most of my family has been removed, because it makes me too sad to see what their political beliefs are. How can people I'm related to have so much intolerance and bigotry? Where does that come from? I removed all the news sites I followed, because I couldn't handle the comments on them, and I couldn't be trusted not to read them. I got rid of everything, unless it was publishing news (for jobs), and musical acts pages, so I know when they're touring. I'm just done. I'm disgusted. I'm depressed. I'm sad. I want to run away and leave all of this behind, but I know it's not that easy. You can't leave it behind. But, it all just feels too big to fix. Help each other, people. That's all we can do.

All Work and No Play Makes Kim a Dull Girl

I need to get myself on a normal schedule. I'm working three jobs now, and my shifts are all over the place. I'd like to pick a designated time to write each week, so I can stick to my goal, but that just isn't possible. Many days, I go from one job right to the next with no break in between. I know I'm over-working myself. I know I'm taking on too much, but I can't stand the idea of just earning a paycheck. I need to know that I'm doing something that makes me happy. If I have to take on a few jobs to make sure that at least one of them is something I love, then that's what I have to do. I desperately want something full-time, though. I can't tell you how badly I want to get to the dentist. It's things like that that you take advantage of when you have insurance. No one likes the dentist, but I also don't like not knowing what's going on with my teeth. I'm pretty sure I'm on the verge of a cavity. Do I wait until it gets unbearable and risk having to pay a ton to fix it, or do I go now and just pay full price for a cleaning and check-up? Something's got to give at some point. At some point, there has to be a job for me. There are some days when I'm incredibly optimistic about it, and then there are other days when I remember that I've been chasing this dream for ten years now, and I don't feel any closer than I was back then.

In any case, the new job at the library is hilarious, and terrifying, and fun, and ridiculous all at the same time. At first, I was pretty upset that I was going to be expected to work there alone sometimes. I haven't reached the point where any of us are comfortable with that yet, but I think I'll be okay when the time comes. It's pretty much the same people every time I work. There's the homeless guy who comes in and sits at a table reading the newspaper from open to close every day. I assume he just wants to get inside somewhere. He's a nice guy. Very friendly. Doesn't bother anybody. Except for the day when he fell asleep at that table and coughed and wheezed and spit the entire time. It went on for nearly an hour and my boss and I were concerned that he was dying. It really sounded like he was. While all this was going on, a line was forming at the bathrooms. This is strange because there are three bathrooms in the building and not that many patrons that this shouldn't be enough. While homeless guy was seemingly dying in the front room, another regular was sleeping in the bathroom. Yes, sleeping. We had previously told him that he couldn't sleep in one of the chairs we had set up in one of the other rooms, so he moved to the bathroom. He was in there for hours before any of us realized it, and it wasn't until another regular asked where he was that we began looking for him. After many attempts to get him out of the bathroom, my boss finally pounded on the door telling him that if he didn't come out, we'd have to call the cops. He reluctantly came out, and sat down with my boss and the guy who asked about him. My boss, who is clearly afraid of nothing, asked him flat out what he was on. He claimed he wasn't on anything (previous reports have stated that pills were found in the bathroom after he came out once). He also said that he had a place to stay, but that it wasn't working out. Which, I suppose explains the whole sleeping in the bathroom thing. My boss gave him some time to get himself together before he had to leave, and he took this time to, once again, fall asleep on the same chair we had previously kicked him off of. During this time, another employee, who had been emptying the trash cans told my boss, "there's a present for you in your office." It was a bottle of vodka, nearly empty, that was found in the bathroom dude had been sleeping in. He may not have been "on" anything, but he was clearly completely obliterated. We haven't seen him since.

After he left that day, supposedly getting a ride to the train station to go back to his family in New Jersey, homeless guy staggered to the bathroom before leaving. It was a completely insane night, and while I'm glad I wasn't alone, both men were pretty harmless. Just sad. Who would have thought that with all the books in a library, the most interesting characters would be the patrons.