I somehow didn't think I'd miss her this much. Didn't think the hole where she consistently isn't, being as how she's in Colorado and I'm in Chicago, would gape quite as obnoxiously. I knew it would suck not having her around, not being able to see her on a moment's notice (or, for that matter, at all), not spending lazy weekends heaped on the couch talking about love and life and the mysteries of existence with VH1 specials droning in the background about so-and-so's cocaine habit, but I didn't think the lack of her would be such a constant presence. Didn't think I'd be reminded so much that she's not at my side. I was walking through Scoville Park with my sister yesterday and there were two women lying on a picnic blanket and I turned to Ces and grinned in anticipation of her poking me and saying "look, lesbians!" in our running gag over her overactive gaydar, and then I remembered that there would be no giggly dispute as to whether these women were in fact lesbians doing lesbian things on their lesbian picnic blanket because she wasn't there. And my sister, though old enough now that I'm starting to consider her a friend, shows absolutely no inclination to lesbian-spot with me. A relief to my parents, I'm sure, but just another reminder for me that I left half of my soul a large expanse of prairie, plains, and a mountain range away. And she's hurting and I want to be there to... I don't know. Hold her, listen to her, make sympathetic faces and noises and just be there. All that stuff best friends do when their best friends are hurting. I miss her. And I can't even make myself stop missing her, because the only way to do that is to make myself care less, and the only thing worse than missing her would be not caring about her at all. I don't want to imagine a world without our friendship, even stretched across half a continent.And... Any day now, it's going to be time for the semi-annual really long entry in which I come to astonishing and painful revelations about my family, my childhood, and the influence that both of those things have in my present, more-adult, less-destroyed version of reality. But not now. This weekend there will be the Girl and Pride, and I can lump the astonishing revelations and the residual lesbian guilt into one anguish filled entry on Monday. You know you look forward to these.
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