When I remember my childhood, it always feels like fall. Let’s not dwell on the fact that I grew up in Florida and that it was below 75 about three weeks a year. For some reason, I remember arts in crafts in the front room of my best friend’s house with a bunch of other girls while we waited for Girl Scouts to start. It’s always fall. If that’s not a season of nostalgia, I don’t know what is.
I wasn’t an oddball in school. I wasn’t a geek or a jock or super popular, I just was. I mean, I was for sure an orchestra kid; but there are so few of us in the world, mainstream media doesn’t even bother to make fun. Through my love of music and being a decent human being, I made friends with some really great people. But the influential person in my life was Harriet, whom many of you have seen in pictures and previous posts. She’s the person whose house we would all pile into before Scouts. It was her house I stayed at on Friday nights, despite the lack of A/C (like I said, it’s always fall in my memories–but on the real, it was hot as hell). I got drunk the first time with her. I got hungover the first time with her. Wherever I go, she’s right there with me.
Today is our 16th or 17th friendsaversay, though it doesn’t really matter which. I won’t go on and on about it. She’s awesome and I’m more awesome for knowing her. Get you a friend who will celebrate your victories like they were your victories and mourn your sorrows like they were your sorrows. I would not be standing after this summer if Harriet hadn’t be there to prop me up.
Thanks, dude, I owe you one. Or a million. Okay, two.