Apparently, I’m socially awkward. Yeah, its weird. When did this happen, you ask? I’m really not sure. Maybe after high school when I lost touch with friends or maybe when I immersed myself with family life after two kids. I don’t know. Either way, it happened. And for the most part, I really hate it. I mean, when you talk to lots of people on a regular basis, yet no one calls or texts you when you get home, ever, it can make you bonkers. Because of this, I’ve tried to do a little self-evaluating. I’m not above the notion that something is wrong with me or my attitude. When I was in school growing up, I always had friends. I prided on the fact that I had numerous buddies to sneak and pass notes to in class or sit with at lunch or even spend the weekend with. I found little pockets of people who were like me, and we hung out. We always had fun things to do, and I mean fun in a good and bad way. My definition of fun now is a lot different from then, but it still has one common denominator: friends. Now as a 34 year old mom, I feel like an outcast, socially awkward, and different. My husband is a great companion and he is my best friend, but I need girl friends. Ladies who understand my life and want to share theirs with me. Ladies to have coffee with or share a bag of popcorn with at the movies. Is that so much to ask? I’ve tried to hit it off with co-workers, and there are some surface friendships, but nothing bone deep. I miss those friendships that you swear your friend must be your long lost sister from another life. I miss being able to call or text about things that matter and laugh about those that don’t. People at work say I’m really nice, and they’re so glad I work there (the last guy was a jerk), but I’m not invited to the weekly Friday take-out club. The one time I did get to partake of this exclusive group was when I just so happened to be in the right place at the right time. They were in the middle of ordering Jason’s Deli and I just asked if I could order too. They said yes, but they’ve never asked me if I wanted to order out since then. It hurts, but what can you say? Please invite me, please invite me! I’m 8 years old again not getting a birthday invitation and everyone else did. That really didn’t happen, but you see my point.
Now, I’m sitting here wondering why I wrote this. I’m dumping on you, ol’ sweet reader, and I’m sorry. I know life is too short to worry about such things, and darn it I’ve wasted three minutes of yours. The one true friend, the one tried and true friend I still have and always will unless something horrible debilitates me is writing. It frees my demons and makes me feel human, flawed and glorious. Now, if I can just figure out when I have time to do that between the now three kids, two jobs, and married life… I will be fine. I hope.