I had two telephone conversations with old friends today. Both were in my fair city of Denver, I didn't actually get to see either.
First was Chris. He called me while I was at my doctors appointment and said that he has called several times and I never call back. I have no record of any calls or voice-mail, so I can't tell if he is fucking with me or if there is something terribly wrong with my phone.
Either way, I called him as soon as I left my doctor. I told him about the mystery disease�almost seven months of near chronic pain and fatigue; difficulty focusing; occasionally slurred speech; seizures and tremors throughout my arms and legs�and that we still don't really know what's causing it. Possibly fibromyalgia. Possibly MS or some other horrible disease.
We then made some jokes about Tebow and the slightest bit of small talk, and then he got off the phone. Hopefully, we'll get to see each other next week sometime. It's been at least a year since I've seen him (he lives in California), it's been probably just as long since we've talked.
Call number two happened just a few minutes ago.
Paul.
I haven't talked to Paul in years, but I find myself thinking of him all the time. Whenever I listen to Waterdeep, Rilo Kiley, Rufus Wainwright or any of the other great bands that he brought into my life; whenever I walk by my bookshelf and see all the used books that he's given me over the years; whenever I meet someone who is earnest and without guile and actually enthusiastic about life; these things all make me think of Paul.
We talked about who we were dating. I told him about my girlfriend. Six months now and still relatively happy. He told me about his love and their nine months of solid courtship.
We talked about diaryland.
And I realized that this used to be our facebook. This is how I used to keep in touch with Paul and Chris and Cindy and Cammy and so many other people. And since neither Chris nor Paul actively engage in any kind of social media, since they no longer write on here, we have allowed the inevitable grasp of time pull us away from each other. I know nothing about their lives right now. They know nothing about mine.
As Paul and I got off the phone a few minutes ago, there was a clear and distinct sadness in both of our voices. It's as if we know that we probably won't talk much anymore. That we will just keep slipping away.
Neither of us wants this to happen, but our lives just no longer intersect. It happens. It happens to everybody.
This is what it means to become an adult.
But since he is not quite gone yet, I will tell him that he is largely responsible for who I am today. He encouraged my writing before it existed. He saw something in me that I could not.
I appreciate you, Paul Bindel. I am grateful for the impact you have made on my life.
I am grateful for all of you. I wish I was closer.
9:15 p.m. - 2011-12-21
Recent entries:
Awake in My Tiny Cage - 2014-11-03
God. - 2014-10-27
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The Paper - 2014-10-13
A Post About Not Doing Anything - 2014-10-12
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