It has been maybe three years since but I haven't had much perspective until now. I mean, I still don't remember specific details. We had a huge apartment in a slum. We paid hardly anything to live there and only one of us paid the rent out of our pockets. The other one was on financial aid that added up to more than I or the other girl was given by their parents. We all had jobs.

One worked at a bank, one worked at a drug store and I worked at a beauty salon and supply.

We had always had a very strong bond. We acted as a group, we thought as a group, on our own, in the world, we made decisions based on what the others would think. We were co-dependent yet somehow, somewhat functional.

Of course, it all ended badly. There was hurt feelings, diminished egos, consequent loneliness.

It is around 9pm on a Saturday night and I found myself drunk in my bathrobe with wet hair laying on the same bed I had then and I reminded of them and of those times. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

I spent a lot of time dreading them; a lot time pretending to be asleep, a lot of time hiding, a lot of time being otherwise occupied. All that while, I fantasized about living alone. When it came for Friday and Saturday nights, I was reluctant to shower, reluctant to find something to wear and reluctant to emerge from bedroom ready for the night.

But all in all, there were very few nights I ever regretting.

The situation was entirely too intimate I guess. Three, in that case, was a crowd. Two would have been worse, more intensity.

Now I have all the time I want to myself and I feel I now have time to evaluate myself and improve. I held on so tightly to my adolescence I might have missed integral parts of the growing process.

I guess there is no importance to this story other than that this all occcured to me just now as I was lying on my bed, wearing my bathrobe.

03 May 2003 - 9:12 PM

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