Monday, August 18, 2008
 | So we’ll argue and we’ll compromise and realize that nothing’s ever changed... Last night one of my most special friends got married and I sat on the third row next to the aisle and cried my eyes out. Later I drank wine at Table 8 with ready-made friends she had strategically seated together ("because I wanted you to have fun!!" she exclaimed) and took turns sharing why we each think she is like a sitcom character. I danced with my dad, I danced with her dad, and I danced with her very cute brother - who is even cuter than I remember but, alas, called me "sweetheart" which unfortunately means he still sees me as his kid sister's little friend. Nevertheless, I came home with a happy heart. My lips were still stained today from the color-stay lipstick I wore last night. I noticed halfway through the day when I was packing up boxes and laughed out loud. The best part about moving once a year is having an excuse to flip through old papers and letters. Tonight I found all of my old playbills, a letter from Super Nanc asking me whose house I want to go to after prom, the lyric sheet to "No More Nanette", and an enneagram personality profile that a minister gave me when someone and I just couldn't get along. I'm a six, by the way - The Loyalist. Sixes are described as committed, security-oriented, engaging, responsible, anxious, and suspicious. The basic desire of a six is to find security and support. The basic fear of a six is of having no guidance or being unable to survive on his or her own. They have trouble trusting themselves. Why do I not trust my instincts enough? I don't know. I can immediately recognize when I should have trusted my instincts - heated pressure in my chest usually being the first clue. Often it's too late to change my actions, but sometimes I get lucky and can gracefully remove myself from a situation, a commitment, or, most recently, a lease. If not, I can at least have a good laugh about the large desk occupying my storage unit that I knew from the very beginning I never should have agreed to keep. Anyone want a free desk? My mom snapped a picture last night of my friend-the-bride and me on the dance floor as I'm cupping my mouth and leaning forward to say something into her ear. Ten years ago an identical photo of us was published in the society pages of the Oregonian when we had volunteered for a charity auction together. I'm going to send her copies of both photos in a card telling her how much I love our friendship - and maybe mention how cute I think her brother is. But, seriously - anyone want a free desk? |
blessed
No comments:
Post a Comment