The nice thing about hitting rock bottom, I gotta say, is that you genuinely learn who your friends are. Who’s gonna save you, and who isn’t. I have an astonishing number of friends. You hear yourself whining, and you can’t stop, and you despise yourself for it, and they just keep listening. I first realized this during my divorce, of course, but I wasn’t as far down, so it wasn’t quite such an astonishing display of caring. They keep calling me and IMing me, and you guys have, of course, been very kind, despite the fact that I stopped being funny a couple of days ago and am now a sniveling wreck. I feel loved.
The not-so-nice thing about hitting rock bottom is that glum realization that you have never been that good a friend to anyone, you never called anybody three times a day to see if they were okay, you didn’t exactly shirk from uncontrollable weeping, but you sure didn’t court it, and in short, that if you were your friends, you’d be totally boned.
Fortunately in life, as Granny Weatherwax would say, sometimes we get things we don’t deserve.
I promise now, O blog of my confessions, that when this is over, when I finally crawl out of this dark hole…I’ll be a better friend when my own friends sink into despair, and I will offer them couches and chocolate and take them out to coffee and IM them constantly.
I promise.
