So many times in life, I’ve wished I could go back and change something I said or did. I tell myself, like any good, trying to move forward type person, that “I will neither regret nor wish to change the past,” but truth be told, everyone has a day or eight they’d love to go back and do again. Some of those days we wish to redo just because they were awesome days, like the day I sold the book or the day I met my boyfriend, or the day I found out my dad wouldn’t be going to Africa for another seven months. Other days, we wish we for a redo so we could change our reaction, our outlook, or even something as small as stopping for five full seconds at a stop sign. Wherever a person is, I can almost guarantee there are at least a few days they would like to repeat, if not just for the sake of repeating. Tonight, I had the pleasure of reuniting with two of my best friends in the entire world, two men (Snugs and Kitty) I haven’t had the pleasure of bullshitting with for nearly four years, and the second we plopped down on the carpet, I could remember every single day with them I’d like to repeat. Because they were awesome days.
Even the worst of them.
There were the days in high school I’d be too fucked up to go to class and Snugs would drive me around so we could smoke cigarettes.
The day Snugs and I were arrested in Lake Havasu for drunk driving a jet ski, and when the cop asked if I’d been drinking I screamed, “Fuck yeah I’m in Havasu.” We then went to jail in our bathing suits, me trying to convince the cop to let Snugs go because it was my fault and my idea and Snugs laughing at me saying, “Little bun, shut your drunk ass up right now.” We were bailed out less than six hours later by Kitty’s pops, who said he owed us because a few months before we’d bailed Kitty outta jail too.
There was the day Kitty (my old roommate) woke up in a Klondike filled bed because he’d been smoking so much weed he was sleep walking and eating, and ate an entire box of Klondike bars in his sleep, in his bed. After he ate my last piece of cheesecake with his hands. That was three nights after he tore apart a Tortilla Chips bag and ate the entire thing with unmade packs of jello.
There was the night Snugs was lured into the darkest corner of a Sacramento strip club, after being warned by me and the management to stay away from certain dancers, and he ended up chained to a torture wall and bit, over and over, until his nipples bled. That was the same club in which he confessed he wanted to marry his current wife.
Or there was the day Kitty found out he was having a son.
Or when I had the honor of watching Snugs kiss wifey at the alter in Carmel.
Running wild through Tahoe casinos.
Playing hide and seek in the forest.
Going to funerals and being alive still.
Last night I get to spend time with both these guys because Snugs is about to leave on his second tour in Afghanistan, he’s a Marine and the guy that inspired my little brother to join. The weekend my bro decided he would, Kitty almost beat the crap outta some dude that tried to convince my bro to drink more booze, even though he was borderline alcohol poisoning. These two guys have looked after me as long as I’ve known them, and it’s such a blessing to watch them grow up.
Kitty’s son can walk now, and he loves Tech N9ne’s music. The little guy is one.
Snugs has been married nearly four years, and after this eight month tour, will officially have served his time for this country. I’m terrified he won’t come home. Terrified.
There are a ton of things coming up, emotionally, as a commenter L.C. noticed, and I’m usually inclined to be tough on myself, tougher than I am on other people, which is hard to imagine considering my standards. I’m still not quite sure how to cope with and deal with all these sticky emotions, and it is very much like my early days in recovery, when each feeling was fresh and unanalyzed. It all just felt so new. Perhaps it’s because I’m finally committing to how I feel, in terms of my participation in activities like sex and emotional numbness for money, and taking an honest look at the way I’ve treated people in my life, which for a large part, hasn’t been very good. In fact, I’ve been a pretty big piece of shit. Which is nice to think because I think that might mean I’m not a big piece of shit anymore. At least not a big piece anyway.
My dad got back from Africa and is finally figuring out his upcoming move schedule, so I’m working with ridiculous abandonment issues too, at twenty eight and it feels silly, and I’m trying not to emotionally invest myself in whatever response UCLA happens to give me this month, so that is the only time I will mention it. So silly. Silly sticky feelings. Still so sticky. I think perhaps the only difference between now and two years ago, (as it is almost two years ago to the date btw) is that now I know my feelings are not facts and they will pass with time, if I just let them.
So now I am faced with accepting that these are all just things that are happening, and that sometimes there is nothing to be done about it. I can’t stop Snugs from going to Afghanistan, and I’m sure his wife has thought of every way to keep him here anyway. I can’t stop Kitty’s son from growing up as fast as we all did, I can’t keep my dad from going to Africa, and I can’t stop Mr. Man from being uncomfortable when he hears about my “past,” which actually accounts for about one third of my life. I can’t tell UCLA what to do, can’t tell random crude commenters to fuck off in a compassionate and empathetic way and I can’t stop myself from crying if tears happen to be leaking from my eyeballs. I can just let all these things happen, as they will, as they always have and as they always will.