The problem with being a stay at home mom is that I have entirely too much time and opportunity to swim around in my own navel.
I used to have this friend, you can read a bit of the history here, but the short version is that we were close, we fell out senior year of high school, and we never put it back together. Over the summer, a mutual friend mentioned that he had been in touch with her through Friendster, and I sent her a note. Very generic - hi, so-and-so mentioned you, I hear you got married, sentence about my kid, hope you are well. I never heard back. Maybe she never saw it, maybe she never wanted to hear from me, whatever. I wrote it off.
A few weeks ago, this former friend added me as her "friend" on myspace. I was surprised, and I waited. Surely, I thought, I would hear from her. I never did. And so, a little more than a week ago, fueled by my masochism and need for closure and I suppose a small hope that we could at least end things on a pleasant note and certainly also by a splash or two of wine, I sent her another note. Hi, was surprised to see you, sorry we lost touch, hope you are well.
The thing about myspace is that I could tell she read the email almost immediately. So I waited, and I didn't hear back. I decided that was it then, I wouldn't try anymore, just ignore her the way she ignored me and do nothing. But then yesterday, in a fit of, I suppose, pique, I deleted her from my "friends" list. Because I'm twelve. Because I'm twelve and spiteful and hateful, because I hold onto grudges like a drowning woman clinging to a life preserver, and because if you hurt me you had better believe I will do my utmost to hurt you right back, preferably worse.
I don't know why I do that. I don't know why I feel compelled to rip off those old scabs, to poke poke poke at the bruises and soft spots. I don't know why I feel the need to bring up something that happened five years ago or eight or twelve and go another ten rounds on it. I don't know why, but I'm tired of it. I don't want to be that person anymore. I don't want to carry those heavy recriminations and injuries around with me anymore. I don't want to continue to suffer the thousands of ruptures in my thin skin.
So here it is. I forgive everything. Everything. And I apologize for everything, even - especially - those things for which I have no right to expect forgiveness. I know it isn't that easy, but I am going to work on it. It is going to be my new thing, being gracious and forgiving and letting all the crap that doesn't matter roll off my back.
I don't want to be twelve anymore. It wasn't that much fun the first time and it's time to grow up.