Well. Okay, then.
And I may be responding to it with far less forbearance and grace than I’d wish myself capable of. Remember that time I got deathly ill and discovered who my true friends were? Some scattered like the wind when I couldn’t go out boozing with them and/or when I wouldn’t pass over my painkillers for their recreational use and others brought me soup and pudding and checked in on me daily. Serious sickness has many horrors beyond words, but one of its more positive outcomes is this division of relationships. After all I’ve been through I sure as hell know who my true friends are now - they are the ones still by my side.
I’ve tried my hardest to harbor no ill will towards those that faded away / didn’t give two hoots / actually had the nerve to get angry with me for feeling sick on trips with them and being unable to drink myself into a black hole with them, but yesterday I received a little nugget of gossip that made me squee when I should have been at least slightly more empathetic or in the very least disinterested. She apparently now has a few less teeth and a broken nose and I may have not even asked how and correctly guessed “Booze?” on the first try. And she may have ironically complained to the interwebs about how no one ran to her side. I joked with our mutual links that maybe I should send her a text asking for her painkillers, but turns out I’m not THAT huge of an asshole.
Character-wise it is a huge fail to have any amount of reveling in this, but, god, I’m human. And these wounds may be forever fresh.
“Time wounds all heals, send her some jaw breakers.” Dad, the ultimate moral compass, says.
