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verbicideOde to Judy
When we were 16, Judy had gone to the newly opened Gund store at Del Amo Mall to hug the various teddy bears with Patty. Their quest: to find the most huggable one. We'd met up later that afternoon at Hesse Park and she pulled out the most adorable teddy bear known to man. She said she'd bought it for me and that it was the best one to hug. I sleep with it to this day. That's Judy: she always knows what you need.
Judy and I have been friends now for 24 years. She knows me better than my own family and certainly understands me better. I'd had a bad mental day today. Plagued by doubts, insecurity and ugly, ugly fears. And bad mental days waver between two extremes: mute brooding or outpoured emotions. Today was the latter. And I don't understand how she does it, but she absolutely understands every emotion I have. I don't ever have to explain my irrational motivations. She just knows. And she always knows how to make it better. She can always talk me off the ledge. She can always get me to laugh.
So today, after a flurry of impassioned emails, she invited me over for chili and comfort. She's fallen in love with the Vegetarian Chili recipe I gave her from Cooking Light. Also, I think she wanted to force feed me. My appetite has taken a complete dive lately and since we talk constantly, we generally know what the other is or isn't eating. I hate to worry her, but is it selfish to feel comforted by her scolding? It's nice to be watched over by a guardian angel.
We both did our respective workouts and met up at her house around 7. I got the fierce hug she'd threatened me with all day and we set out to the kitchen to finish the chili. I diced tomatoes and we talked about some upcoming events (another birthday thing for Ellie, poker night later on this month, etc). We settled onto the couch and instead of watching West Wing (my suggestion) she coaxed all my worries out of me. We ate chili and let the conversation carry us over all kinds of topics, including our favorite: the insanity of our parents.
By the time I left, I was smiling again.
When we were 16, Judy had gone to the newly opened Gund store at Del Amo Mall to hug the various teddy bears with Patty. Their quest: to find the most huggable one. We'd met up later that afternoon at Hesse Park and she pulled out the most adorable teddy bear known to man. She said she'd bought it for me and that it was the best one to hug. I sleep with it to this day. That's Judy: she always knows what you need.
Judy and I have been friends now for 24 years. She knows me better than my own family and certainly understands me better. I'd had a bad mental day today. Plagued by doubts, insecurity and ugly, ugly fears. And bad mental days waver between two extremes: mute brooding or outpoured emotions. Today was the latter. And I don't understand how she does it, but she absolutely understands every emotion I have. I don't ever have to explain my irrational motivations. She just knows. And she always knows how to make it better. She can always talk me off the ledge. She can always get me to laugh.
So today, after a flurry of impassioned emails, she invited me over for chili and comfort. She's fallen in love with the Vegetarian Chili recipe I gave her from Cooking Light. Also, I think she wanted to force feed me. My appetite has taken a complete dive lately and since we talk constantly, we generally know what the other is or isn't eating. I hate to worry her, but is it selfish to feel comforted by her scolding? It's nice to be watched over by a guardian angel.
We both did our respective workouts and met up at her house around 7. I got the fierce hug she'd threatened me with all day and we set out to the kitchen to finish the chili. I diced tomatoes and we talked about some upcoming events (another birthday thing for Ellie, poker night later on this month, etc). We settled onto the couch and instead of watching West Wing (my suggestion) she coaxed all my worries out of me. We ate chili and let the conversation carry us over all kinds of topics, including our favorite: the insanity of our parents.
By the time I left, I was smiling again.
