Potluck Friendship

The sign of a good friend is not, as they are finishing their last lap of a two-mile run, to stand on the sidelines and yell "Run Forest, run!" at the top of your lungs. Besides amusing everyone within hearing range and making a total fool of yourself, you also annoy the crap out of your friend by doing this.

It was pretty fun though.

My therapist is always telling me to list good things about myself, and then she gets mad at me when "friend" isn't on there. Honestly, (as the above example should illustrate) I'm not all that sure I'm a good friend.

Oh sure, I listen when someone's having a bad day and I try to understand what they need from me to feel better. I worry about my friends and I laugh with them (and when they're being stupid, at them). I am fierce in their defense and forgive them anything, but I don't see these things as being particularly special. Maybe this has to do with my terror of being a burden: in my life, I want nothing so much as to make those around me happy (obviously I don't care about making neo-Nazi plagiarists happy).

Despite all this however, I seem to have little trouble making friends. Sometimes it takes me a while and sometimes I meet people and we just click. Who can say what governs the mysterious alchemy of friendship? It's like the food in the dining hall: sometimes it's fulgy as all-get-out, and sometimes you strike pure culinary gold. (Only without the food part, obviously.)

Right. I think it's fair to say that my brain has checked out for the day. Off to fight with my computer over James Bond. I want to watch Daniel Craig shoot people, and the computer apparently has parental tendencies and thinks Bond films are bad for me. Either that, or it's a radical feminist disguised as technology.

Oh Lord...
WolfGrrl