There have been plenty of times where you’ve called me, drunk, at some ungodly hour. You’ve told me that you want me, that you need me, that you miss me.
In all seriousness, there is just an acute loneliness that tends to develop around the holidays, one painfully and obviously punctuated by the kissing ritual on New Year’s which seems to go around the party with a stamp and mark “together” and “alone” on people’s foreheads in bright red.
How often do I stalk you on Facebook? Ehh, often. I would pretend here that I’m not constantly clicking over to see what you’re up to and gauge the attractiveness of the various people you’ve been banging who cruelly aren’t me, but that’s what I like doing in my spare time.
I’m sorry if you think that I should be doing other things, enjoying my youth, counting my blessings, and seeing other people. I don’t need to hear your motivational poster quotes about all of the wonderful things I still have to look forward to in life, or that we ended for a reason.
We know this, and yet we don’t often ask ourselves when we watch shows like Here Comes Honey Boo Boo if the kinds of eating habits that Mama is giving Honey Boo Boo at such a young age could be considered abuse.
If you do tell, is it more about being honest with your partner, or assuaging your own guilt? Is ignorance really bliss?
What have you been doing? Are you happy in your life? The things that you always talked about doing as we lay together in bed, looking at the ceiling in that kind of dreamy, half-asleep lull of honesty — are you doing them?
Who allows ten messages to go unanswered — a month of silence to stretch on — and still be excited when the other person finally decides to respond? I did.
The thing about gossip is, no matter how much you enjoy it in the moment (and we all kind of have our ugly moments of saying something nasty about someone that we wouldn’t say to their faces), you know it is probably happening behind your back, too.