Posted by: shellyweave | May 3, 2010

life in the fast lane.

Dearest Meghan (and whomever happens to stumble across this piece of the internet),

Your Saturday post made me laugh out loud, and that is hard to do because I am sore from dancing all night and I am writing this while going on twenty eight hours without sleep due to my wild lifestyle. Prom was ridiculously fun, but the staying up until church the next morning with the boys was a poorly thought out idea, even though it was hilarious. I walked back into my room after they left and found a bottle of Mountain Dew, Hot Cheetos, crackers, hats strewn across my floor and a can of dog food.

I do not own a dog, as you know.

The thing is, everything you said in that post is true, but at the same time I see it as the exact opposite.

I am a very timid person when it comes to doing crazy things. I mean, I’ll get roped into them, but I cannot name a single event in the history of my life that strikes me as insane where you weren’t standing beside me, often using phrases like “seriously, it’s not that big of a deal” and “if this is the WORST thing you ever do, then you’ll turn out just fine”. All of the times I look back on in the three (I cannot believe it’s only three) years we’ve known each other seem to be a role reversal from the way you see it. I see you as the spice to my otherwise plain and easy lifestyle of sitting at home, reading a poetry anthology or plucking away at a guitar for hours before someone forces me out of my cave.

But at the same time, when I really think about it, I am often the one out until two or three in the morning when you are sound asleep, cuddled under a certain blanket of yours.

I guess what I am trying to get to is that without each other, we are two entirely lame human beings. I have friends that I hang out with that strange stories are just attracted to* but the tales are never as cherished as that one time when Meghan and I ______________. The stories we’ve catalogued over our high school careers that could fill in that blank are all so meaningful in ways that I don’t really think anyone will ever be able to fully understand besides the two of us.

But I think I’m more than alright with that. And judging by the fact that our Facebook chat that is going on right now is a hot mess of my tired typos and strange exclamations and you are STILL talking to me, we’re going to be more alright for a long time, my friend.

* There are way too many stories to mention here, but I think I’ll go with the time one of them narrowly avoided a fight with a drunk burrito seeker on St. Patrick’s day, and in the process my sister ended up flat on the ground, her arm bleeding. The drunk guy never touched any of us.

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