I did that thing that is so destroying to the soul that it can leave a steady undercurrent of memory-fuelled emotion, particularly on a Saturday night in. Yes, the ultimate form of self-stalking: I got click-happy on Facebook and trawled through loads of old photos. The early twenties were so much fun for me. I guess that in itself is something to be happy about and grateful for because not everybody experiences such good times with a close group of mates as I had. The situation ponders upon me those curious life-affirming questions: “What the hell happened?” And: “Why and how would you lose mates like that?”
Things are moving on quite significantly within my group of mates. Things. Couples are getting serious and moving in together, travelling the world together, shit one couple is even having a baby. Yep, the late-twenties have smacked me upside the face without even the decency to wear a boxing glove to soften the blow. While everybody else seems to be living it up, here I am still wondering what I’m going to do and what life is about. Of course, I am being over-dramatic and taut comparisons as such aren’t good for the positive mind. What makes it all the more worse in this moment is that I’m sat in on a Saturday night, licking a Tangle Twister and watching Big Brother. And it’s Big Brother on Channel 5, the version I’m ashamed to admit I watch because it’s gone way beyond its heyday.
Don’t get me wrong, I have been having some good social times with new social circles. Somewhat. And I have been going out. I think my problem is that I shouldn’t be able to have too much time to think. The past month or two has been such a whirlwind that I’ve not had much time to contemplate, with that there’s always the chance though to miss out on opportunities to grow.
Over-thinking. Thas what I do.
I do on certain occasions, such as tonight, miss my friends deeply. Particularly when I lazily spend 30 minutes sifting through old photos from 2008 up to the present day, analysing the changes in mine and their faces. There’s photos of us in Ibiza, so young and fresh and free; there’s a huge amount of us in various party establishments, some of which should not even be made public what with eyes as wide as flying saucers; there’s photos of us hugging each other tight; there’s photo of me and the girl, the girl of whom would share “last one up” status while we chatted absolute shite for hours after all other party-goers had gone home or sprawled out wherever was physically possible in cramped city centre apartments for young professionals. I’ve noticed how group dynamics have changed since boyfriend’s have left the group and new friends have been taken in or people have moved to bigger, badder London or… just generally, moved on.
I was really close to said girl who I’d be up with for most of the night. Laughing. Drinking more. I miss her a lot. Or, I should say, I miss me being that person with her, a lot. Strangely enough, she came to visit on Tuesday just gone. My brother was back from the Middle East for a week, visiting us, which on a separate note was so very cool and having dropped him back at the airport today made me sigh a huge sigh but this time without the tears. So yeah, the girl came to visit, with another close friend of mine and hers, and… it was strange. We used to see each other as a group of friends at least once a month, which has been getting significantly less as time goes on. It felt kind of awkward for me, so much so that I joined the smokers outside and didn’t really catch up with them the whole night. This is definitely something to do with me, not them, and is frustrating because I love them so but feel a sort of jarring from my end, a new screen of defence, a lack of trying and a general lethargy.
Whatever happens, in this very moment I am aware of the feeling of love I have for certain friends around me. I can feel it inside. I miss them dearly in the manner of which we used to hang out and I miss the closeness and the bond and their happiness to see me. Which really isn’t the case these days. I mean, I know they like me as a friend, but it’s just not the same. And it’s down to my being distant. So I should probably just sort it the fuck out?
That’s life though. Whether down to me or them, as sad as it is, things move on and that’s a fact and ain’t no doubt that. It’s whack.