As I finished moping up the teary snot off my boyfriend's sweater I realized I had become the woman who snivels her way through a lengthy diatribe on the loss of her youth, vitality and relevance outside the kitchen. See, the problem is you visit an old friend, you get talking, you have 3 bottles of white wine each like the old days and the next day when your man comes home you're exhausted and fed up with your life. Your cells are depleted from the sugar crisis of the last 24 hours and your mind mulshed like the saw dust you lay in the night before whilst you tried to convince said old friend to get the fuck up and help you get out of an area you'd only seen on TV. See, the problem is is that your old friends remind you callously and yet hilariously at the time of what you used to be, of how the night before was every night 3 years ago for about a year and that was a sustainable and reasonable manner in which to live at that time. Old friends (the troublesome variety not the ones you used to eat tree bark with as a dare in the fields behind school...I mean the really troublesome ones that almost got you arrested a few times and probably did at least once...yea...that friend) because you have so much fun with them, the kind of fun that is dehabilitating and has you ordering pizza twice the next day and never quite summoning the energy to close your mouth after each guffaw made at a marathon session of 30 Rock. Old and well worn bad, good friends ask you aghast why you just allowed the bar man to not serve you before the cliche of a blonde next to you because 'Don't you remember? Don't you remember who you are?...who you were...?' To him, you'll always be that girl who used to walk past the bus driver and sort of shrug/smile and never pay, with the bad, good friend you're the girl who confounded men to the point of surrendering all the after party details and sometimes their bank's and all manner of help/protection from imminent arrest thanks to the drunken bridge burning of said bad, good friend who has been barred from pretty much every establishment you used to frequent.
He apparently doesn't try to frequent these places anymore and neither do I but for some reason old friends cant quite believe you have forgotten how to be the girl they used to know and they never will, thank God...or else where would one go when one needs to be incorrigibly bad? So horrifically uncouth that if your boyfriend saw you he'd pretend not to know you or make sure he didn't by the next day. The one unfortunate side effect of reconnecting with old and frankly quite bad for your health friends (the good stands for your bond not the quality of influence) is the dinstinct feeling days later that emerges from your ragged synapses that perhaps you are not the girl you once were, no longer sexy, no longer powerful, no longer thin enough to fit into the jeans youve known were a far off island away from reality for a good 2 years now...It just hits you, like Melanie Griffith looking at her discombobulated old-new face trying to remember what the last new face looked like and if it was any better....you just don't know! and if one is better than the other does it really matter? I cant change it now, my life is different, my priorities are different.
So yes I'm out of practice on the old sexual blagging. I'm out of practice and I'm a little more out of shape than I was the last time my old friend saw me but surprisingly he thinks i still look fantastic, the same even. He sounds aghast when i repeat my age, he keeps reminding me of how fabulous I am, and he means it and the good part of this bad friendship is that i think he always will. I fear he always will; tipping my ego over into territory that does not equate with my real life. Convincing me i should leave the Masters degree behind and the relationship and the couch grazing with a laptop and go and reenact 4 years ago. Or maybe just live a little more.
He knows I have no intention of being 30 something and holding eyelids made crepey with wine open with a matchstick hunting for meat (previously of the hot door man variety sans the lengthy chats which is really very tedious at 4.30 in the morning) while he makes strange noises over groups of women believing he is in fact making conversation. He knows we'll have to grow old gracefully now we've reconnected. When I left his flat he asked 'what exactly do grown ups do in the evening without alcohol, we must do that instead', various suggestions were wrought out of our sodden brains such as 'the cinema?'...'erm...food?' Next time we'll do food and maybe next time less of the post party depression. As my boyfriend reminded me, who is really looking much more wonderful a reality as the memory of debauchery fades, 'you can't be the same person, you're not the same person, you don't live the kind of life that would faciliate the way you used to live' I'll go on not because I'm exploitative but just beacuse I thought this was very lovely and worth exploiting; 'you weren't how you are now when we met, but i didn't fall in love with the girl you used to be I fell in love with the woman you've turned into, the woman who by worrying about what she isn;t anymore underestimates all the hard work she put into turning her life around and all she's achieved' Well...how can you argue with that? The schism between past me and me now as i see her, ie: mostly cognizant, cooks a lot, worries about buying her boyfriend the right bike, is in my mind not his. For the boyfriend there is no 'still' in relation to me, no 'in spite of' in his esteem for me, it is a good constant, one to have a little faith in, a little faith that a girl like me then or now is not used to. Ive never been so rooted in one place with one person and I decided that although Id like this me to reach for her La Perla a bit more often and feel excited about herself and her love life there is room for all that, time for all that but perhaps not whilst trying to write her memoirs, a thesis, a blog, a TV pilot and live a life with someone that demands sobriety in order for us to even stay awake because we're both so busy.