Guys, I can't go to a party. Any party. Ever. My waking hours are those of a cat. (But I'm pretty useless. I don't catch vermin. But I do bring in a nice disability check.) I'm a shut in. I wouldn't live this way if I didn't have to. I only leave this apartment to see doctors. That's it.
I'm so sorry to each and every one of you all that I didn't come out and say this months ago. But to do that, I'd had to have admitted to myself that party-going is just another addition to a long list stuff I can no longer do, participate in. Yeah, just an addition. No big deal, right? Try it sometime, it's a lot tougher than you think.
Barring a medical miracle, I'm not going to get better. This is it, kiddo.
But let's just sweep aside my physical limitations for the moment. Everybody, this reunion wasn't the right venue to make my real, living, face-to-face introductions to all of you FB friends. You all have known each other for thirty years or more. You have a shared history. Reunions are for reconnecting with friends you don't often see. And to see the whole crew in all its glory. Reunions are for drinking too much and talking about the old days. It is "remember when time." And, c'mon, I played zero part in your life at Schreiber, and I didn't want to get in the way of your reminiscing. And a chick in a wheelchair hooked up oxygen is a distraction. You'd feel obligated to explain inside jokes. Like the time when you all ended up with lamp shades on your heads. Whatever.
A rule for all to remember and follow: A reunion is not the time to bring Captain Pike (google Star Trek) to the party. For the reunion, it's really best to keep him home. Hey, and that's cool. It's really okay, okay? There now. Don't we all feel much better?
So where are my friends? I mean I didn't spend three years all alone in my own bubble. Well actually I did spend the three years at Schreiber in a bubble- but one large enough to hold a small bunch of really smart girls. My brother coined the term or at least he was the first one I heard use it. We were social lepers. Simple as that. We connected with nothing and no one. Why do I need to be reminded of how that felt? It was awful and hurtful. It made me angry.
But what about my friends? The ones who made life at Schreiber bearable and who were fun and funny and acerbic and misanthropic? The people I loved madly. Who loved me madly. Where are they?
One is long dead, another has washed herself of her entire past (I don't know why, but I don't have to know, do I?), another is mentally ill and chooses not to communicate with any of us (from this sick puppy, boy can I relate), and another who has just lost the love of her life. And then there's me. I'm half of what I was.
This is a sad reunion for me.
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