you know when you were a little kid and couldn't sleep? what did you do? did you count sheep, did you make up stories in your head? sneak with a flashlight under the covers and read a favorite book?

me...i made an office in my head.

i made up this elaborate room in my brain, my eyes the only windows and behind the windows, a control panel.  the control panel had lots of lights and gauges and knobs and buttons.  behind the control panel were two chairs and behind the chairs was a loooooooooong loooooooooooooong line of filing cabinets, in the middle of the room.  there were other desks flanking these lines of cabinets.

here's the part you're going to think is terribly bizzare. 

there are little men in there.  not like scientology men.  men in brown suits and brown hats with brown overcoats.  they would come up the stairs near where my ears are when i went to bed at night.  they would hang up their brown overcoats on the coat racks by the doors and clock in.  they muttered.  nothing that i could understand; but i assumed they were greeting each other, talking about the game or the goings on at home.  they'd shuffle to the coffee pot.  some would take off their jackets and work in their shirt sleeves and suspenders.  two of them would sit at the control panel and move the knobs and buttons.  the rest would report to their desks or to the filing cabinets.  some would start going through the filing, some would be scribbling at their desks.  they were processing my day, prioritizing things that happened and filing them accordingly.  at the end of their day they would tidy up, put on their coats, clock out and lock up.

their quiet undertones that couldn't be understood were a comfort to me.  the fact that they were filing away my day was something i just assumed really happened in a brain, within my childish comprehension of how the human brain worked. 

sometimes...when i can't sleep...the men come out, they work, muddle around the messy dusty filing cabinets muttering to each other.  at the end of their shift, they put on their coats, say their goodbyes to their comrades and off they go.

strange, the comforts of childhood i still carry with me.

when will i ever learn?

i'm sensing a pattern here. when will i stop allowing selfish people into my life? is it something inside me, in my genetic make-up, that predisposes the exposure? or would a psychologist tell me it's because of father-issues?

i began a friendship about 2 years ago with this person who soon became like a sister to me.  kindhearted, funny, uninhibited and silly, she reminded me of a long lost friend from another lifetime whose bond was made in middle school.  the friendship from middle school had continued through my first marriage and abruptly ended, sadly.  after the dust settled, i realized then that i was in a one-sided friendship with a person who needed me as their mirror rather than a window.

this current destructive relationship seems to be the same.  in the recent months, i felt i gave and gave and gave until i was as a wrung out wash rag.  i couldn't, or wouldn't give anymore.  i was fresh out.  i hit a very rough patch at the end of last month; the culmination of a happy anniversary and a sad one...and i felt as though i was split in half - the true definition of laughter through tears.  and it hit me, as if i ran smack into a wall, that i was without my friend. 

sure, i absolutely have my dear, loving, supportive, outstanding husband.  sometimes though, we need a girlfriend to hold us as we cry. 

i found myself in a great storm, standing alone through the tornado of my thoughts and feelings.  out of reach and trying to hide it from my husband.  seemingly "pulling it off", being brave and stoic.  she was no where.  she didn't care.  she doesn't care. 

maybe she never did.  maybe it's as i've been preaching to another friend...when we date, we put on our best clothes, our best outer-selves, to this new and fabulous person we've met who inspires us to be at the pinnacle of ourselves.  maybe her best clothes came off, and the outer shell wore down, her true self exposed.

but maybe i'm the asshole here.  maybe i didn't do enough, say enough.  maybe i didn't do the right things, say the right things.  maybe i'm not a good friend. 

it's a pattern...a puzzle to solve on my own.  i'd like to think i look for the best in people and thought i found a good person to share my secrets with.  now, i hate that she has all my secrets, my deep dark thoughts that should never have been shared.

i'd like to think it isn't me who did the screwing up.  i know i'm human, i've totally cocked off several times and said things i shouldn't have.  temper is an evil thing that gives me verbal diarrhea.  sure, we'd had fights before...and i always tried to work it out....wait...i always tried to work it out.  wow.  hello.  i was always the one to approach her, to call her, to reach out to her.

why am i wasting the time trying to figure this out? human nature, or sheer masochism? if i figure it out, the pattern stops, right?

so, i will make it official.  the fat lady sings.  i'm done...so done i need another word for it.

Yeeow.  It's been awhile again.

I won a contest on the radio and May 12th I got to take 3 of my friends to the Sex & The City premier.  *gasp* I had to write an essay and I won.  How bout that?

We were picked up in a limo...a big Ford Excursion limo and ferried off to The Upstairs, a restaurant in Austintown.  We had 6 courses of delicious food and wine to boot.  We were each awarded around $300 in gift certificates and then the limo took us to the movie theater, where a red carpet was laid out for our service.  We had our photos taken like true red carpet walkers and were ushered inside and past the crowds to our reserved seats...where we enjoyed a lovely movie.  Then, home in the limo.

It was a fantastic night!

I stood in a room full of strangers for 5 years; not that they were strangers.  I knew them, as friends, as family, as loved ones.  I spent time, effort and money; giving until I was blue in the face.

One day, I looked around and thought, "it's not enough".

I walked away; although I tried like mad to hold onto those I considered friends, eventually our clasped hands released and I was but a memory...like the scar from the skinned knee a child gets when he falls off his bike. 

After almost 2-1/2 years, I still check on them from time to time.  I still wonder how most of them are doing, how many kids they have, how old, who is pregnant, are they healthy, safe, happy...

So I send this out to them, not knowing if they "look me up" at all anymore...to let them know, I miss you.  I wonder about you.  I never stopped caring about any of you.

It's a shame I have to have some kind of closure...to people I keep trying to convince myself were strangers all along.

My mom told me once that when I reached "adult-hood" I would be able to count my good friends on one hand.  Mom, you were right, again.  I have 2 really close friends who I love to the ends of the earth and back...people who I would walk through fire for and am convinced would do the same; but I was convinced those strangers would as well. 

Saddened, disheartened and only slightly bitter anymore...I've examined my scars to find they have helped make me who I am, only slightly more cautious to give myself over to honest and open friendships.  I am strong and resilient and proud to have the few precious friends I do have; and I carry with me wisdom that should befit someone twice my age.  I'm uplifted when I can help a friend, I feel proud when someone comes to me for advice.  I've had a rough few years and at the time I never understood why.  Now I can say, "I know, I've been there...it will be okay"; and I'll mean it.

Thanks to the strangers who have helped weave the tapestry of me.