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Last night I slept from 10:30 until 5:30. I mean, I slept. The entire seven hours. Without waking up a single time until my alarm went off. Miraculous! I cannot remember in my lifetime the last time this happened. Seven hours is like an eternity of heavenly rest. Amazing. I got up to go to the gym even though I wanted to sleep some more because it's already Thursday on week nine and I hadn't made it in yet. Surprisingly, the thirty minutes went by pretty quickly. I attribute this to the gym not being very crowded and smelly yet and my favorite new running song, "Who Loves You Pretty Baby" from the Jersey Boys soundtrack. Which brings me to the Tony Awards. I'd never even heard of Jersey Boys before the show, and I've now watched the performance from it about twelve times, and I bought this song because I knew I needed to own it. I don't know anything about the Four Seasons. (I asked my boyfriend if he's familiar with the Four Seasons, and he replied, "The Vivaldi? I love it." Which made me say HAAAAAAAAA. He's got way more culture than me most of the time.) Anyway, apparently it's a great show, and it's a GREAT song to run to. To celebrate my most excellent morning of fitness, I canceled out any good done to my body by running by eating two slices of pizza for lunch and approximately a dozen Oreos throughout the course of the afternoon for dessert. Fantastic. I am now sitting here watching this atrocious interview with Britney Spears. I do not understand why she did not consult a professional make-up or wardrobe or hair person to prepare her for this high-profile, national interview on prime freaking time network television. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. And did she just say that she does not know how far along she is in her pregnancy? Is she really chomping her gum like this on national television? Are her false eyelashes malfunctioning on camera? What is going on? Oh, Britney. It just makes me sad. It really does. And oh my God, now her chin is wobbling and she's crying and now I feel like I might start crying, too. I don't know whether to feel sorry for her or be disgusted by her or whether this is all a big act or WHAT IN THE HELL HER DEAL IS. Tomorrow night I'm going out with some girlfriends, most of whom I haven't seen in quite a while. All are married, all have small children, some have two. Two are pregnant. I love all of these children, but I feel a little scared inside at how left out I will feel. I think the feeling of feeling left out is one of the worst feelings in the world. I wonder how I fit in at all with them anymore. Clearly Shelley and I are still one, but she's far away and not here to speak in code with at the table. I still am close to Maryelizabeth because we make sort of a bulldoggedly tenacious effort to stay in touch and I know her child the best out of all of them and truly am in complete love with her child. But I don't know how much in common I still have with the rest of them. Eva and I still catch a movie together once in a blue moon because that is the primary tie that binds us -- it's what we've always made a point to do together. But I don't know if I still know any of them as my friends the way I used to. I realize that they are all just following what seems to be the natural progression of life and I have not and I'm sure if I had a child I'd be singing his or her praises from the proverbial rooftops and I don't begrudge them this part of their lives. I don't know. When I was suddenly single and they were all coupled, I certainly felt totally left out, like an alien, and I guess everyone might feel left out somehow all the time no matter what. Those who want another child might feel left out sitting by those who have already gotten pregnant again. Those who are married might yearn for their single days. But I guess they can't feel left out because in this group they're in the majority. I am making no sense. Maryelizabeth vowed to steer the subject toward celebrity gossip. Which is altogether selfish and unreasonable on my part and I understand that. But I guess that if they are all going to talk about mom stuff together, I'd rather just excuse myself because I have nothing to add to the conversation. "Oh -- Zuko woke up me up crying at three in the morning this week," (which he did) or "Oh -- the cat barfed on the bed the other day," (which she did) doesn't exactly compare. I can be proud of my running program, but the fact remains that I have friends who are skinnier and more fit than I am when they're pregnant. I wish I weren't always making such comparisons, but it's impossible not to. I worry they will judge my clothes and my hair and try to tell me what would look better on me or how I should straighten it a better way. I worry they will pick on me for being out of town so much on the weekends or never socializing with them with my boyfriend in a couply way. I worry that they still have some idea of me as some boozing social butterfly when I'm no longer a boozer or a butterfly at all. It makes me sad to think that I don't really know who they are anymore and that they don't really know me. I guess having a few people in my life who make me feel known is important, and I can't overlook that just because there are some to whom I'm not so close anymore. It feels good to feel known. I must now go tend to these three insane animals now. I'm keeping my boyfriend's cat right now, and she and Khaki are in the midst of an hour-long staredown across the living room. Marley's hiding somewhere, paralyzed with fear. I can hear the dogs wrestling like maniacs in the backyard. I really don't know how people without pets live. What do you do all day? Isn't the world just a little bit too quiet?
© Copyright 2006 elb |
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