Deep Thoughts - Why am I Writing When I Should Be Sleeping?

There's laws against drinking and driving and advice about drinking and dialing, but perhaps we should think about covering the dangers of not sleeping - and blogging instead.

I just finished reading one of my best friend's books. Yeah, I know a person who wrote a book - a real one with a cover and everything. Not just any book, but a memoir. I don't know what's more astounding, the fact that I somehow snagged such a talented friend, but that we're old enough (in fact, I'm six months older) to already have things to memoir about (that so just became a verb.) I realized, as I lay in bed last night after I finally made myself stop reading and get some sleep, that we all have memoir-worthy experiences, we just don't take the time to sit down and take stock. It wasn't until my husband (who is a very sound sleeper) turned and mumbled, "what are you doing babe?" that I realized I was lying there, in the dark, talking to myself. Perhaps my memoir will focus on my inability to realize when the thoughts running through my head are actually coming out as an audible conversation with myself. What I found running like hamsters on a wheel through my mind was how much my small circle of friends and I have been through in our lives already. Sure, you have the typical college war stories (mostly humorous, at least they are now) and the "what was I thinking" exes stories (I will admit, I have more of those than my friends, but it gives them something to laugh about, all these years later; and I'm a giver.) We have the engagement stories, the weddings - and the bridesmaid dresses to go with them. Then there were the babies, some planned, some surprises but they all never cease to provide us with ammo for great moms in the trenches stories. Then came some of the sticky, less funny, full on grown up stuff. Friends who tried to save their crumbling marriages, only to find out their now ex-husband was a total train wreck. Friends who faced major crisis in their relationships, separated then made the painful decision to divorce - only to reconcile and remarried their ex. That same friend called me three weeks into marriage #2 (with husband #1) and tearfully admitted that she may have made a huge mistake. Friends who called me and told me that, somehow all the doctors he'd seen for various respiratory illnesses the past few months had somehow missed the big diagnosis - cancer. Friends who came into my life at the same time I was dealing with my best friend fighting for his life and allowing me to sob uncontrollably, while they refilled my wine glass and reminded me that it's okay to let the dam burst every once in awhile. After going to my third funeral in five years, all for people my age, I had come to the conclusion that the universe was pretty f*%#ed up. In fact, if you had Googled "bitter, angry & utterly confused" - I'm pretty sure a picture of me giving the universe the finger would have popped up (and then probably some inappropriate stuff you never imagined would pop up, per the norm with a good Google search.) After finishing Cathie's book tonight, the thing that keeps resonating with me is change is inevitable. We age, we move, we work as hard as we can at a job and realize quitting isn't failing, it's admitting we deserve better. Would the 37 year old me have walked past the 20 year old me and thought, "wow, she really has her act together." Um, no. But the 20 year old me would probably have puffed on her Marlboro Light and felt bad for that "older lady" who obviously hadn't had time to get her roots touched up lately - and wondered why she's wearing yoga pants with bleach splatter on them. But honestly, both of those chicks are pretty damn cool, yoga pants or not. I have no doubt that, for the rest of my life, my emotional barometer will fluctuate from giggling at something that would have made Erik bust out in his world famous belly laugh to tearing up because I won't hear that laugh anymore. And there's not many days that Leslea's voice doesn't make itself heard, whether it's telling to bust out the heels once in awhile or reminding me it's okay to ask for help. The dam does tend to burst more frequently, usually when I'm questioning why I would make such a fast friend in someone who helped me deal with losing a lifelong friend - only to be blindsided by her own death less than two years later. Then I suck it up and remind myself that I was extraordinarily lucky to have Erik in my life since I was 8 years old; and just as lucky to have Leslea in my life, if only for a brief couple of years. My memoir wouldn't be worth writing without the many chapters of my life that they touched and will continue to touch. With what was lost, what I have in front of me becomes more and more cherished every day. My husband (who I am sure doubts my sanity on a regular basis), my kids (who know their mom is a huge goober) and my friends - some who have been around since the Clearasil days, others who I finally got brave enough to let into my life after fearing I had some kind of hex on me and the bestie from Texie (okay, that sounded way better in my head) who landed right in between. I can't stop the changes and I may not always like them, but I have super cool friends, like Cathie, who remind me that we are all hurdling through life everyday; but, as far as I know, Cathie is the only one who has written an absolutely amazing book about her life so far. If you are my friend, and you are reading this while you take a break from writing your own memoir, my apologies - I owe you a latte, or a shot, whatever you prefer. Depending on which friend it is, I can probably figure it out, that's not going to change.