Real. Sweet. Reads.

He made me a notebook for Christmas.
Like, mademade me a book, by hand.
A handbound leather notebook.
Because he is supportive of me writing.

Of course, I burst into tears.
Oh yeah, and shoes.

Yesterday.

Said Wednesday.

Wake up next to Jim.
It's a perfect sunny December day. 
Watch Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Tidy up.
Walk to Crossroad's.
Find a white fisherman's sweater for $10. Actually, $9.50.
I have been looking for a good fisherman's sweater.

Buy a bouquet of yellow roses and a bottle of champagne.
Catch up a bit with my Malibu Bad Ass by way of Denver.
Take my hair out of the nasty little bun it was in, spray some dry shampoo in it, blow dry it, and viola, I all of the sudden have the hairstyle I've been wanting - the curls from the day before are still there, but messy and full and perfect. 

Check mail. So many Christmas cards.
Sit on the porch like a fidgety child, waiting for my Best Friend from San Francisco to arrive.
She arrives. 
Sit and talk and laugh and cry and trade clothes and get a lunch of ahi tuna poke, tater tots & spinach dip.
She meets Jim. She approves.
Jim gets me a delicious burrito.
Jim is happy that I am happy.
My Malibu Bad Ass writes a wonderful little post about our friendship.
Bijou finally caves and starts her own blog.
Watch Scrooged while cuddled up on the couch in a knit blanket fort of sorts.
Fall asleep, next to Jim.

Yesterday was the Best Day Ever. 
I kid you not.
I am so in love with everything.

Three, Letter, Words.

Bijou Bijou.    <--that there's a link, y'all.

Bijou finally made her writings public. 

Just one more thing to make my Best Day Ever even Better.

ALL CAPS CAPITAL BEST DAY EVER.

Sweet Reads.

I'm always so proud when one of my friends does something truly extraordinary; like saying, after a lifetime spent in LA,

'Fuck it! I'm moving Denver to see about a boy.'

And then, having the courage and the words to write about it. 

So, my Malibu Bad Ass is more of a Denver Debutante these days,
and she's getting Creative. 
Capital C.

Check out the start of her new blog here: Class Optimism Luck. 

I also think it's funny how different each one of our beloved friends can be, while still being our friends. 
Opposites attract and all that jazz and stuff.
Bijou's personal motto has been, 'cynicism, nihilism, sarcasm, orgasm' for years, while my Bad Ass names her blog 'class, optimism, luck'. 
My 'style & saturn return (aka essentially re-building what it means to be a successful grown up)' is pretty apropos too, I guess.

Blanket Fort Musings.

Good morning! 

In the movie of our lives, she would be played by
Miss Williams while I would be played by
Claire Danes. We decided.

My house is a little messy today, but its only 8:35am and I'm already running the dishwasher so thats a step in the right direction, I suppose. I have Bon Iver playing full blast and its chilly and sunny outside. I've sent all my Christmas Cards out like a real grown up, & I didn't even have to ask anyone for their addresses, because for the most part, I already got 'em. Tomorrow I may see my Best Friend from San Francisco, as she has made her yearly pilgrimage to Southern California. I haven't seen her in two years, since our 10 year high school reunion and before that when we bought very expensive tickets to huge concert in LA (much to my Ex's surprise) to see Florence + the Machine and Brandon Flowers.
I just got a call from Jim telling me to not look at anything that UPS might bring today, and the teenage boy with the curly mad mop of hair just walked by, like he does everyday, on his way to school. 

Wrapping is my holiday Zen.

These holidays, however stressful as they are because of work, are going well. They are going well, though I have to say - I maaaay have gone a little crazy with gifts for the Boy, after agreeing upon only three, I somehow collected over twenty.

Shopping last Sunday for servingware & centerpieces for our Holiday Housewarming Party, after hitting up the big spots, like Bev Mo, HomeGoods & Michaels right as we were leaving, & I was walking back to the car, Jim had just finished up loading the trunk. He turned, hopped back on the shopping cart, feet on the bottom bar, and full speed ahead, rode it back to the front of the store. 

Hair blowing, smile on his face, he zipped past me on my left like a boy left to his own devices, flying. 

I love him so, I thought at that moment.
I love him so, I think now.

So we are set for our housewarming, after quite an investment in cake platters and serving trays, and Belgium-brewed beer & Dad's rootbeer in vintage pop bottles. Our centerpieces for the table are finalized, with berry branches in galvanized milk jugs, and a simple menu has been put together. 
We are happy.
I am happy.

Though, truth be told, we did have our first argument a few nights ago.
What about, you ask?
The tenets of time travel.


Yep, we are perfect for each other. 
And no, we don't agree upon how time travel would work if time travel were real.




But who cares, because neither of us would go back in time and change a thing.



I did something. 
I have that oft mentioned lace caftan, right? 
Well, honestly, I'm never going to wear it again though I only wore it a handful of times. 
I've outgrown it.
But I love it so. 
So I made into something that will live on for a while.

Happy Holidays. Yes, these are happy holidays.

Reality.

I miss you.

Thanks.

Do you ever stop, look around, take it all in & realize how lucky you are? 
Welp, you should.

We accept the love we think we deserve.

(the perks of being a wallflower.)

The Victor v. The Phantom.

Ya know, I haven't been writing as much these past several months. I haven't had much to say, nor have I have too much inspiration. Torment is a beautiful muse, you see, and happiness only begets more happiness. Meaning, I sure as hell have a lot to say and pick apart and remind myself to be grateful for when I'm dealing with loneliness or a general undercurrent of sadness; but when I'm happy - that's it.
I have few words for it other than 'happy!', 'love!' "partaaaaaay!'
Sure, things aren't Perfect, but they're as closed to it as I have had in recent memory.
In memory.
And when I really think about the last six months, who I was when I turned thirty, God so much has changed. 


I am thriving.
I have a couch, a bathtub and a Boy. (And, a grown up career path to boot.)
I made my demands of the World, and after a scuffle with World, I came out The Victor.



And sometimes, okay all the time, I look at that Boy, and at my World, and I cannot believe it's all mine.
Finally, I see what I want and I know I deserve to have it.
I see his profile catch the light and he looks beautiful and we are happy.
We wake up laughing and fall asleep contented. We are well aware that things are not always so perfect, and we game plan on how to deal with curl balls thrown.
But, when we wake up fall asleep and all the time in between, we are at a loss for a better word than 'Love'.
We times'd it by pi, then realized that's not very large, so we added an infinity, and then some.

It scares me to think that the Ex of 5 Years and I fell out of Love and we didn't even notice. I think about it a lot actually; I try and pin point exactly when it happened, when did we fall out of love? I don't know. It was well before we broke up, obviously. But when, exactly, I cannot recall. Though, truth be told, I can hardly believe we were together for five years. I can't remember what we talked about for five years. I mean... What did we say to one another for 1,825 days? I remember the backhanded, the fights. I remember the really wonderful, especially from when we first met.
But the in-between? That's a blur.

Babe, tell me again, the origin story of 'Motley Crue'? 
(No joke, when the Ex and I ran out of things to talk about, I'd ask that exact Q.
It'd keep him going for at least an hour.)

It scares me immensely to to think of falling out of love with Jim.
To sink into a relationship that is becomes something other than Lovely.
I am afraid of taking his love for granted, and vice versa. And to not notice until it is too late.
Or, conversely, to notice but not to care.

I learned so much from my relationship of five years, and the subsequent period of crazy dating that followed; but what I am determined to take away from my Ex is to have chosen a partner that will not fall out of love with me, and I not him. When I reflect back on my past relationship, what I feel most is a sense of being disliked. My Ex did not like me very much. Especially not there at the end. He didn't have a ton of respect for me; and when I repeat some of the stuff he said to me back to myself, my feelings still get hurt, years and years later.
My feelings are oft hurt by a Phantom Ex Boyfriend.
Jim thinks I'm smart and hilarious and wonderful and I think the same of him. And I have vague memories of Liam thinking similar of me when we first met, but he changed his mind.
And that still stings.
And that still scares me.

Its scares me immensely to think of Jim falling out of love with me.
I have to remind myself that he is not him and they are not the same.
I have to remind myself that what has passed does not have to be the rule.

This is good stuff.

But you know what the real difference is between the two?
I told Jim about these fears, and he did not disregard them.
He did not tell me I was being crazy.
He just reassured me he wouldn't.
And then, from another room, I heard him making up new words to a We Wish You a Merry Christmas,
(I kid you not.)

...I love you more today than yesterday but not as much as tomorrow...

Though, truth be told, I'm not sure if he was singing to me or to Kat Moss.

Fete.

Put your party shoes on.

I did it; I decided to throw a party.
A White Elephant Holiday Housewarming. 
With the tagline, 'Wrap your crap' 'cuz I'm cheeky like that.

Status: Approved

'I have to tell you, your Dad was nearly in tears last night. He said he hasn't seen you look so happy or healthy in years. And... Jim's soooo cute.'

This is an authentic representation of what he wore.

My stepmom whispered all this in my ear upon mine and Jim's arrival to my cousin's wedding over the weekend in Los Angeles, the day after Thanksgiving.
My dad then hugged me, and told me so himself. He told me I looked beautiful, which I don't remember him ever saying, but I'm sure he has.








Jim met (99% of) my family this past weekend.
You can guess how that went.

Smartest. Family. Ever.

White Elephant.

Kat Moss is totally invited.

I'm in the mood to throw a party.

A fete of sorts, ifyouwill.

Cozy, easy, post-Christmas yet pre New Years.

Every time I get the urge to throw a something-small I inevitably end up going back and forth back and forth about whether or not to actually throw it, because I get afraid that even if I did throw a party, no one would show up.

I imagine me, alone on the couch, metallic party hat on, curtains drawn, a single sad balloon hovering halfway between the ceiling and the floor. 

No one's coming to your sweet sixteen party, Louise.
Pathetic Party Kazooooooooooooooooo.

It's silly, really.

Then I go back and forth, trying to figure out who exactly I would invite, and I get overwhelmed at editing an invitee list (I always end up inviting some rando at the last minute anyway for fear that no one'll show) and then I end up deciding not to throw a party because it's too much of a headache (egoache), but the urge doesn't go away.

I'm in the mood to throw a party.
The internal fête battle rages on. 

I Just Google'd How to Spell 'Bored'. 'Happy' I Know By Heart.

They opened a Crossroads Exchange across from mine and Jim's house.
My life is complete now.
No, but seriously. I feel that way.

Also, is it just me, or if the dude in a picture (or life, or whatever) is too good looking, the whole thing comes off as contrived?

Your chiseled good looks are ruining the shot, man. 
Also, maybe this is why I love Jim's crooked bottom teeth.

I'm addicted to eBay.
I'm the highest bidder on a Galliano fan (as in, 'the vapors!') at the moment. 

I'm happy & bored & having a dinner guest tonight.
Which reminds me, Jim's parents saw the place for the first time last weekend, and it was so nice to see them so happy for their son. There was such a sense of pride in the way they looked at the place, and it was fun to watch them walk through and seeing it through their eyes. It also, and  this is weird to say, but I feel it, it made me feel like they knew that I am 'taking good care of their son'. Like somehow the outside reflects the inside; the happiness, the love, the care. I know the above is a bit of an antiquated concept, 'I'm taking good care of him, over here!' but it still made me feel good to sense that it was coming across. That and his parents think I have very good taste, so that was pretty awesome too.

Speaking of taste, what am I going to make for dinner?

Just a Friendly Reminder.

Never skip mascara.
Seriously. 

Say thank you.
Mean it.

Remember that other people's shoes will never be as comfortable as your own.
Which makes walking a mile in them really hard.
Try to imagine doing it anyway.

Learn how to politely decline.

Learn how to apologize when appropriate.

Learn how to not apologize when you don't need to.

Remember that we are all human; we're all doing the best we can.
Not one of us is always going to be perfect, or perfectly understanding; but, that doesn't take away from the fact that we're all trying our Goddamn best not to fuck up.
We're all trying to keep the yarns moving smoothly through the loom. 
Repetitiously.
And no matter how much you practice, you're never going to get it right one hundred percent of the time. There are going to be imperfections; there will be mistakes.

You can't take them back, but you can most certainly learn from them, and move forward with less of a chance of making the same mistakes again.

Learn how to forgive.
Yourself, most importantly.

But don't ever skip mascara.
Even if it might run.
Seriously.

Sunrise, Sunset.

Here I am, like I am most mornings - prework, or day off - I've made a point to wake up around the time that Jim leaves and enjoy my morning (or whole day, but not today) in Our Space.
Yesterday, I went to the market and bought what I usually buy - flowers and house knick knacks - nail polish, hand soap, a vintage looking edition of Pride & Prejudice that will inevitably never be read, but will look pretty on my dresser.
I arranged the flowers in my many many vases & blast Bon Iver on Pandora all day (or morning, as I am now.)
Then I peruse --- eBay, Pinterest, Facebook, you name it, I am in engrossed in it.
Yesterday, in particular I spent an inordinate amount of time looking at a photo story entitled, 'Rihanna's Sexiest Tweets' until I stopped, and thought, 'What the fuck am I looking at?'

And I feel whole.
I love finding a Rebecca Taylor dress for $15 as a surprise for my sister on eBay, helping my Malibu Bad Ass find a Minute Clinic in Denver, making plans for next Sunday with two of my old shop cohorts, responding 'Yes' to evites and generally just feeling helpful and happy, all while being surrounded by fresh flowers and feisty cats in a House with a Green Door.
On the couch or in the bath.
On our patio, with the furniture I picked.
I like my mornings.

But, I still have problems falling asleep.
I hate those moments of pre-sleep where my subconscious sneaks up on me, and I start thinking nonstop about the 
'What if's...'
Of memories I've willed myself not to remember.
Of things I could have done differently.
What if Jim dies... What will happen to me... How long would I be able to stay here in this house... It's not mine... Could I afford the mortgage... Could I get out of bed...
The moments in the interim of sleep and wake have been an Enemy of mine for a long time and I tend to stay awake as long as possible, doing anything possible to avoid the interim, until exhaustion hits - like a child with barely one eye open - and I just pass out without the actual falling part...
And the only moments of discord that Jim and I ever really have are when he's threatening to close his eyes before me, leaving me alone with my sleepy scary thoughts.
I get huffy, like a tired child up past her bedtime.
It's frustrating. For both of us, I imagine. Left alone, usually I wrestle with my fears for awhile and fall asleep, only to wake in the morning with only a vague memory of their existence  They're there, but only in those in-between moments, those moments I have trained myself to avoid with terrifying accuracy.

Last night was no different & and even though I had made the decision not to try & stay awake until the night just faded to nothing, I still lay there thinking the aforementioned what ifs -- and like many nights, I curled up in a panic to Jim, waking him from his new sleep, in tears. What if... How long...?
He's so sweet; when I am able to articulate the fears that have amassed cancerously in my tired brain,
he doesn't brush them off, he just holds me.
He asks if I want him to call his lawyer.

No, I just don't want you to die. 

He squeezes me and assures me that he doesn't want to either. He tells me of something he read about  in his own daily perusal of the interwebs, of a girl and her boyfriend falling asleep, where the girls tells the boyfriend she hates falling asleep because she gets so fixated on her next days' to-do list, and the boyfriend is confused because when he falls asleep, he thinks about things like rocket ships made of french fries. 

I envy that boy. 

Its so odd, being alone with my thoughts all morning, I am happy and whole and looking around at a warm space of my own creation, complete and happy.
But alone with my thoughts, on or around 10:30pm most weeknights, I am greeted by an old enemy - I am tired, and scared and sad.
The dichotomy of it - the two parts of Me - the day and the night, the happy and the sad - they are what make me my Whole-est, I guess. 
That I do not run, or attempt some other form of running away, that is a miracle in it of itself.
That I go to bed, or at least agree to try, on a regular basis, is new to me.
That I wake up as happy as I do is new as well.

It's an even trade, I guess.
Fears are fears, we're all going to have them.
Lucky for me, I get to wake up to a comfortable & blessed existence come the sunrise.

I'm always going to be afraid of what I cannot control. I'm always going to have memories that I wish were never made.
I'm always going to wrestle with my own propensity towards sadness and fight for my happiness.
I am always going to be working for a balance.
I am finding a balance.

I Like This Girl.

Eat The Damn Cake.  (Thats a link. Click it in a sec.)

I just fell into her Love Story.
I've read her work before, and she's articulate & she's deprecating & self aware. Its refreshing, and makes me feel like I have a friend in someone's words. (Imagine that.) I especially recommend following the hyperlinks to her first date with her now-husband.
I like her style.

Balloon.

I feel like... 

I finally have what I've always wanted; and have been asking the universe for - demanding from it, really... 

A couch, a bathtub & a Boy. 

A love that grows for that Boy; that has a ever expanding charge - like the universe is ever expanding. 

Sometimes, I feel as though maybe it's hit its stride; I have a moment of 'This is it. This is a Whole Love.' 

And then it grows more. 

And then, again. 

It matures. 

We've hit points of melancholy, or fits of giggles, and It grows yet again.

I wake up and tell him I love him, and I mean it more than I did yesterday.

Even though, yesterday I did not think I could love him more.

Leave/Change.

Leaves are changing. I finally noticed when Jim and I took a trip up to the Getty Villa, and outside of the preplanned Southern California tracked homes with their evergreen palm trees.

Or perhaps, it was the first time I'd had the time to notice.

After what feels like a long time coming.

And like the leaves, life changes. Life is fluid.

Though, I've been aching for 'the old days' a bit lately. Not sans Jim, but for the days where I had my little shop overlooking the ocean, for me to tear apart and put back together, for my boss and I to sit in the sun and talk shop on the bench by the door. For a time when my conversations with friends were not for about fifteen minutes before my workday, but instead spread out like melting butter over the course of a day or week or months.
I miss that little life by the beach; the one which had a place so perfect for me within it. 
Summers in the sand, boys falling at our feet, with flowers in our hair; we dressed, we danced, we sang, and though we were not entirely happy, we were - or, I was - contented with that.
It's a bit hard, feeling so disconnected from that old life. From that shop that defined me, from my friends who carried me. My life has changed in insurmountable ways in the past six months, from job to boy to many many things - and, within that life, I feel more contained, more centered and safe and loved. I feel Whole - and defined - for the first time in as long as I can remember.
Still, I can't help but feel a pang of hurt, of sadness, when I see pictures and think, 'I should have been there.'
I can't help but feel like a shunned third grader who wasn't invited to a birthday party when I realize that I wasn't even really asked somewhere where one hundred and eighty days ago it wouldn't have even have been a question.
And that's when I yearn for the days without question; the days of  fluid, half giggled conversations - the days of ocean views and misty PCH mornings.

I guess I have poor balance, I guess I can't - in light of all these changes - I haven't been unable to hold onto any semblance of my old life while creating a new one.
I feel like I've failed a little. Hell, I feel like I have failed a lot. 
But even then, when I think about failing my old life and feeling dismissed by it now, I can't help but remind myself that here - working a busy schedule and with a boy who loves me (in my wholeness, every bit of me, and not just in parts) - here, I am happy and here I am safe and here I am.

Here I am. 

My little life in Orange County; one which has a place so perfect for me within it.

I am here.
I am Home.

Ali McGraw Was All Wrong.

Oh, the arrogance that comes along 

with an apology that one is not expecting.

I once asked my Dad if it would be arrogant of me to find my first love and apologize for breaking his heart.

His simple answer - as Dad's are apt to give - was, 'Yes.'

Zelda.

I'm reading Zelda by Nancy Milford. Written in 1970 about The Zelda Fitzgerald, I'm totally sucked in - taking photos of passages and texting them to my Best Friend in San Francisco. I love a book (especially a biography about my favorite generation of artists, The Lost Generation) that speaks to me from page one. I''m already lost in a world of a girl from eighty or so years ago.
Read it with me.

Closet Contentment.

Sometimes, as shallow as it may seem, what really makes me happy is a peek inside my closet.
I have beautiful clothing*.

*Or, whats left of it after four months of 

unemployment & many trips to Buffalo Exchange.

The (now tattered) Dries Van Noten that my sister scored a consignment store in San Francisco and finally gave to me after years of pleading.
The pink Nightcap open weave cardigan that I bought with birthday money from my boss at my old shop, overpriced and ethereal, it was finally mine at twenty nine.
The Twelfth Street by Cynthia Vincent dress I wore to a wedding in TriBeCa years ago.
The Forever 21 dress I wore to my Flame Haired Favorite's wedding at the Viceroy in Palm Springs.
The never been worn Leyendecker mini dress that looks terrible on me, but divine hanging in my closet.
My Bad Luck/Good Luck Missoni skirt and my Jen's Pirate Booty french lace caftan.
The tangerine Joie dress Jim bought me.

I've collected costumes over the years; these are the pieces I cannot part with.
I love them like old friends.
They represent the good, the bad, and the phenomenal.

My most recent luxuries hang there too; near-rent priced Kate Spade dresses, a gold lame accordian pleated skirt - so au currant for fall. Cow-print haircalf loafers - a score at $32 this morning - they sit next to sweat stained Louboutins and vintage equestrian boots. I've walked miles in these shoes.

Jim and I spent a good month designing this closet - with stainless steel racks, wood hangers & wire baskets. We did it all ourselves; combining my Rachel Pally with his John Varvatos; taking into account the length of my maxi dresses and the need for storage of his Theory dress shirts.

My closet makes me happy; as my style has defined me in many ways.
Most pieces, I remember exactly when, and with whom, I bought them - as well as where, and with whom, I wore them.
They are tangible reminders of memories. My clothing allows me reminds me of who I am.
That I've grown from a girl whose favorite compliments had something to do the with shape of her body to a woman whose favorite compliment is when someone tells her she has 'amazing taste'.

Missing.

I've got about 75 lunch dates to catch up on. 

Down The Rabbit Hole.

I fell down a rabbit hole today.
Down down down to the depths of the well organized and nearly hidden old photo folders on my laptop.
Pictures from my 28th Birthday Party.
Pictures of people I don't know anymore, of a girl who doesn't exist anymore.
I wore my hair like that? 
It was odd, I don't even look like the same girl anymore; my face is thinner now, older.
My hair is shorter now. I look uncomfortable in the photos.
The people in the pictures are strangers, with the exception of Bjiou.
And my sisters, of course.

It felt as though I was looking at someone else's life.
It looked nothing like Now.

GOOP's Got Nothin' On Us.

Okay, okay... Perhaps I exaggerate a tad.
But! Jim & I have officially become Those People. 
No no, not People With More Than 2 Cats.
People who Do Things.
Or, conversely, total and complete dorks.
Don't laugh at us, laugh with us.

Here's why, exactly.
Introducing...
Well, just follow the link and you'll see: J&DDT.

Growing Pains.

When I was a child - as my mother tells it - I would, usually at dinnertime around our family dining room table, stand up on my chair, raise up my arms, and demand the attention of my parents,

Look! Look how Big I've gotten!!!

As if, over the course of our spaghetti entree, I had grown from a two foot tall child to a five foot tall adult.
As if to announce,

Look! I am growing up right in front of you! As we speak! As we eat!

Around the same time, 

I also used to cry, real tears, sobbing, at four years old that, 

'I don't want to go to college.' 

And, as children do, I have grown up. 

Trés Grow'd Up.

Look, look how big I've gotten. 

However, in this Growth Chart that is Life, in growing and changing, and regressing and growing some more,   with all of that, comes Change. Capital C. (No shirt, Shitlock.)

But what happens when you outgrow things you love? 

When an old t-shirt, that used to encapsulate your 'You-ness' so perfectly, now just seems illfitting, outdated and threadbare? 

When a friend who used to be the Second Pea in your Pod no longer fits alongside you so comfortably? 

When a 'Signature Scent' becomes an unpleasant olfactory reminder of a really bad year.*

*Michael Kors. 2003.

What do you do when you outgrow a best friend? 

When what used to be so comfortable is now not. 

When silence is now awkward and no longer filled with camaraderie.

Or worse, when silence is really just a filler for festering? 

I certainly don't have any answers, no matter how big I get. 

You want the what section?!?
It's like I don't even know you anymore.

But, I do believe that - like in relationships - we deserve standards and paper planes and friends that treat us well, with patience, and with love. And I have failed on this count many times, and am right now, as everyone has. As we grow, and as we change, and as we sometimes no longer see eye to eye with our best of friends, and as I realize that no one is perfect, especially not me, and as I get more and more at ease with my own imperfections, I realize that sometimes the outcome of Growth is that sometimes you grow out of your friends. 

That best friend you've had since Kindergarten, her actions no longer are forgivable, or easily disregarded, because you're 'just kids'.
I mean, sometimes you just realize that in all this growing up & getting big, you don't really like who your friends have grown up to be.  

Or that the best friend who got you through your darkest time cannot seem to see past your darkest time. Or when you simply realize you don't like to be around a friend anymore. Or when you start to realize that your friend feels the exact same way about you. That she doesn't particularly like you very much either.

Relationships change as we change, but how do we remedy a change so uncomfortable? 

How do you remedy the relationship when you also recognize that change = things with never be the same? Without blame, and without causing emotional unrest? 

Without feeling like shit, and beating yourself up about it? 

I don't know. 

It's all well and good to talk the about friends that you can just pick up the phone and not a beat is missed after weeks of busy busy. About friends who just seem to 'Get You', even from 500 miles away. 

I realized last night, that in the last five years, I have seen my Best Friend - in the flesh - four times. Three of them being in 2007 or 2008. We joke to each other that ' [my] Best Friend is really just a floating voice in [my] ear.' And it's true. But when it comes to 'First Best Friend', she's it. We do not skip a beat. We can be floating voices for eachother once a month or multiple times an hour. I cannot live without her.

But outgrowing a 'Second Best Friend' or a Third, or most painfully, your First, is almost worse than a break up. 

I mean, if you think about it, a 'break up' really just means, at the most elementary level:

'I don't want to pretend procreate with you anymore.'

(Or, I don't want to procreate with you in the future.)

Emotionally, that sits a bit more soundly with people (me) no matter how sucky it is to hear, or how painful the break up may be, than when you outgrow friendships, & you realize some combination of:

We have very little in common. 

We don't get each other anymore. 

 

We have nothing in common other than our hair.

You disappointed me. You've changed. I've disappointed you.  

I don't really like you anymore. We don't really like one another.

Or, the worst, 

You (or I) have not been a good friend.

They all suck. 

'I don't want to have sex with you anymore' versus 'I don't really like you anymore'. Both suck, but one's really fucking personal, and is wholly about you as a person, and can't be justified by Darwin, or male stupidity, or anything that feels out of your control. 

'We've outgrown what used to be awesomely super fun' sucks too.

And coming to peace with this outgrowing of certain relationships is really hard.

Especially, when you're unsure of whether or not its actually a reflection of Growth. 

I mean all I know is that I'm trying to be my best self, and even in doing so, I still fail.
A lot.

People change. And grow. Thank god for that, really. 

Makes me really grateful for those friends I can call after weeks and months and years and not a beat has skipped. 

xx : bijou bijou.