Every once in a while, I have one of those days. You know- the kind where "nobody likes me, everybody hates me" runs through your head all day. The kind that leaves you feeling sad and lonely and wondering what you did to bring this on because really, you're a nice person. You're a funny person. You're kind of cute, if you do say so yourself. And yet, on those days, you don't particularly feel that way. It seems like everyone else did something last night and apparently, you weren't invited. It seems like everyone is doing something tonight, and you weren't invited to that, either. You try to remind yourself that you probably wouldn't have gone anyway and, if the truth be told, you were in bed at 9:00pm. Happily.
But still, there are those days. I hate those days. I feel too grown up for those days. I try to focus on all the good things that are in my life and the fact that I actually enjoy hanging out at my house, watching movies with my husband and throwing the ball (incessantly) for Pip. I don't feel bad at the end of the night when it's time to climb into bed- I don't regret anything.
It's the next morning, when I see the pictures on facebook or hear everyone talking about how much fun they had that I wonder, "Hey, why wasn't I invited?"
I'm married to a wonderful man who always answers that question with, "Who cares?" And it forces me, after a bit of whining, to admit that I had a nice evening doing whatever it was I was doing. That is one of the many reasons I love him.
On those days, however, the grass is always greener. At home, in my lovely peach state, I have four best friends. And on those poor-poor-pitiful-me days, I know in my heart of hearts that if I was home, I would be hanging out with one of them, drinking wine or playing with someone's dog or kid, or making dinner. Or just watching TV at their house. I can picture it clearly- the smile on my face, the comfort in being with any one of those people and the feelings of love and acceptance, knowing that these people are my friends. And they are good people.
The problem is, that's not really what happens. There were plenty of days in the summer that I was home alone. My dad and husband would go play poker somewhere and I would be in my pj's curled on the couch, just hanging out. They, these four best friends, have lives and jobs and most of them don't actually live near me. So getting together with those wonderful people does not happen as frequently as I know it would, on these worm-eating days of mine.
But I like to pretend that it does.
And I won't eat any worms.