Most days I am satisfied with my present life. Most days I find something for which to count myself lucky. But some days -- and it's almost always on a Friday, and I don't know why -- I feel a little resentful over where life has taken me, which is too far removed from the generic land of friendships.
Most of my closest friends, in fact, don't even live in Ontario, and I wonder (usually on Fridays) would I see them any more than I already do if they lived close by? (Yes, I would, but let me save that part for a non-self-pitying day.)
Maybe I wouldn't feel so bad if the people I consider my friends weren't so often -- usually on Fridays I realize, now as I type this -- telling me about the plans they have made with all of their wonderful friends: camping plans, music festival plans, party plans, concert plans, picnicking plans, and so on.
It wasn't all that long ago that two friends -- one of mareseatoat's longest-standing, in fact -- sat in our living room and told us about their fabulous adventures in Prince County and how they had rented a cottage and had invited eight friends from Toronto (we live in Toronto!) to come spend the week with them.
I confess, I don't expect to be included in everyone else's plans. I know that I have no business interfering in lifelong dynamics, and I have learned the hard way that I am on the wrong side of the hetero-/homo- question. But do people really have to tell me, over and over again, about all of the fun-filled group events they have planned or have been invited to over the weekend? Couldn't they just talk about the weather and how irritating all these strikes are and about their favourite summer movies?
And I do say this with a bit of a shamed faced. Tomorrow we are going to a friend's for lunch, and another friend just emailed to ask if we had any free time for a visit, and on Tuesday I am having dinner with five fabulous women who are my friends, and I know that we always have lots to do and that I have some lovely family members left and new and less-new babies to celebrate.
Still, in my head it's a matter of what should be customary politeness and feeling as if I am worth enough for a) an invitation, or b) an absence of reference to them.
In the meantime, I am just going to sit here and choke down a few more sour grapes.
<:^)
