Thursday, 20 June 2013

"When I leave CSI, there won't be any cake in the breakroom. I'll just be gone." - Gil Grissom #17

Given the nature of yesterday, this line has been rattling round in my head.

Not in the kind of mortality way my late dad's birthday might have inspired, but generally.

Tomorrow (Or tonight, depending on how you look at a day) is a joint birthday party for a pair of good friends of mine...

Or are they?

That's really the question here; when does a best friend become a good friend, and a good friend a friend, and a friend an acquaintance?

I've known one of these two since we were at school, and granted we never always saw eye-to-eye (I always thought he was the dorkiest of the dorks because he knew a lot about computers, and he probably saw me as a thick fuck but whatever) but since we left that place, he's grown into a decent guy and, for the longest time, was a damned good friend. In recent years he's moved house, got married and is now living the life of a grown up young adult (both of which I refrain from calling myself) and I can't help but feel that he sees me as a bit of a loser. He's well within his rights to, after all.

The other, I've not known quite as long; she was the object of a friends desires on and off for about three or four years, and it's by her design (almost) that the former and his wife met. Since we first met, she too has grown up and, while she may either not admit it or hide it well, also probably sees me as a bit of a loser.

Yes, yes, I know. It's paranoia talking!

This isn't my issue.

My issue is this.

I've spoken to one of them once since November.

She was on hand recently after it turned out my depression may not be depression, but he wasn't.

And not for the first time in my life, I found myself thinking; Will anyone miss me if I leave?

Again, that's paranoia talking and I know some people will miss me (before you, yes you, you know who you are rush to tell me) but really, am I that bothered if my old friends don't notice?

Obviously, I am. I'm writing a blog at 1am BST discussing the fact of leaving.

It's got me thinking though.

When the time comes for me to me to leave, be it this house, a future job or even the town/country I'm currently living in, how do I want to leave?

Quietly, is my answer. It's not my usual style, granted. I don't want parties and cards and cake. The day before I leave, or maybe even the day I leave, I will make my goodbyes to those that matter. I'll metaphorically turn up my coat collar, pull down the brim of my hat and be carried off by the next strong breeze. Maybe I'm a fish destined to outgrow every pond I find myself in, or maybe I've got to keep on moving to find my perfect pond. I'm fast outgrowing this pond I'm in though, that much is clear. Trouble is, I don't know where the next pond is. I don't know if it's big enough for me, whether its full of weeds or predators, or even if it has a little pearl in it that's just right for me. 

I think one day soon it may be time to snap some deadweight weeds from around myself, and take the leap out of the water.

N.

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