Change. I have never gotten the hang of it. I wish fervently that this wasn’t the case. I have visions of myself bounding through life, taking change and set backs in stride. My hair is always curly and tied up in some vague bohemian style in these daydreams, perhaps illustrating just how far off base that fantastical version of me is from reality. My hair is dedicated to its straightness, and simply does not do Bohemian, apparently. My hair is also rather snobbish it turns out (not that it has any right to be, mind you, but there we are).
4 close friends moved away in 2015: 1 to California, 1 to Portland, and 2 are as you read this adventuring across America in their van.
I didn’t want them to know just how bereft I was at their leaving. Being the one left behind is not an enviable position. What made me saddest was the knowledge that even if and when I see them again, it won’t be the same. Time will have done its part, and we’ll be different people, and the times that we had are gone. For ever.
Also, my goals changed (yet again). Blech. No words for that just now. Moving along.
And just today, I found out that Alan Rickman died. It hadn’t occurred to me that he wouldn’t live to be 90. If he can die, then anybody could go, and that’s a little bit terrifying.
And here I am, awake at 3:30 am. Again. Well, I suppose it’s nice to be able to count on something.