It's been a tired week. For reasons that women understand--and I won't go into. It's made me a little down, possibly for the same reasons. Just trying to get back into the swing of things, while futher considering my life choices (or lack thereof).
Went out with an old friend. She is my oldest friend, in the sense that of my still current friends, I have known her the longest. We have been friends for 20 years (20 YEARS!!!). We were talking about how we always seem to end up talking about underwear (one memorable time--how ratty a pair of underpants has to be before you throw it away), this time about push up bras and the weird sensation of saying, "Hello, World, these are my breasts," esp. when (like me) you've never really had a lot to show off. (Cultural reference flashing in my head--Designing Women). I think we may end up talking about underwear because we really don't have much in common. We never did. Our friendship was founded on being cynical at a Nerd Camp. She went into science and is financially doing very well (for those to whom it would mean something--she and her husband just bought a TOWNHOUSE in Charlestown--for which she did not quite pay a million). I went into the arts and am not. While I like science a lot, she has never been into the arts, even as a hobby, and because I did not specialize I am too far behind her in science and math to discuss. There is a level of envy on my part that I hate in myself. I don't know if she'll ever read this. (That is the dilemma of the public journal--do I write about darker feelings knowing a friend might read?). She reads what I consider "trashy" sci-fi and has no passionate feelings about movies, books or music. As you can guess from this blog, I do. Yet, we are friends and both work to maintain the friendship.
Went out with an old friend. She is my oldest friend, in the sense that of my still current friends, I have known her the longest. We have been friends for 20 years (20 YEARS!!!). We were talking about how we always seem to end up talking about underwear (one memorable time--how ratty a pair of underpants has to be before you throw it away), this time about push up bras and the weird sensation of saying, "Hello, World, these are my breasts," esp. when (like me) you've never really had a lot to show off. (Cultural reference flashing in my head--Designing Women). I think we may end up talking about underwear because we really don't have much in common. We never did. Our friendship was founded on being cynical at a Nerd Camp. She went into science and is financially doing very well (for those to whom it would mean something--she and her husband just bought a TOWNHOUSE in Charlestown--for which she did not quite pay a million). I went into the arts and am not. While I like science a lot, she has never been into the arts, even as a hobby, and because I did not specialize I am too far behind her in science and math to discuss. There is a level of envy on my part that I hate in myself. I don't know if she'll ever read this. (That is the dilemma of the public journal--do I write about darker feelings knowing a friend might read?). She reads what I consider "trashy" sci-fi and has no passionate feelings about movies, books or music. As you can guess from this blog, I do. Yet, we are friends and both work to maintain the friendship.
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