Storm free

Blonde gave me another prompt (eye of the storm) which I started writing about and then went off course. But the theme's in there somewhere, promise. 

For someone who sends cards all year round for no particular reason, I'm surprised by the amount of effort it takes to buy, write and post them for Christmas.

But this year the effort seems necessary, because this was the year things changed.

It was the year that my friends and I grew up, just a little bit, with a wink: made lifelong commitments, created human beings, chucked it all in and went abroad; broke down, broke up, and realised as a few things crashed that right: so this is how life's going to go now.

So this year, there'll be cards: and it starts with me, in bed on a Saturday morning, making a list of names.

The list surprises me, and so it should: because throughout my childhood and teens, friendships were stormy things. Never calm for long, always a battle to maintain.

They were precarious, and worrying: something that could, and often would, be messed up at any moment (usually, it seemed, by me).

Almost no one on the list comes from my school days, which at one point might have seemed odd.

But now, it seems obvious: if you go to five different schools, you'll be constantly interrupting, re-jigging; trying to squeeze between friendships and groups that were, in that classic, cliquey, school-like way, already formed.

I wish someone had told me back then, in the middle of one of the storms, that I'd make the best of my friends at university, and at parties, and at work, into my late twenties and beyond.

That when people ask how we know each other, there'll be furrowed brows and longwinded explanations, of friends-of-friends and introductions here and there.

That when they arrive, the friendships won't end up fitting a defined shape, or group, or neat number at all.

That one day I'd make friends to get really, stupidly drunk with, who'll drive me home the next morning while I'm being sick into a plastic bag, and laugh when I say "see, this is how I know you're good mates, because I'm not even ashamed".

That I'll have friends that are strong minded and friends who speak up, and friends who I can honestly say "mate, you're being a complete nightmare"; and instead of it causing a storm (and I'll never quite shake the fear that it will) they'll say "I am, I am. And that's why I love you, because you'll always let me know".

That I'll make friends whose priorities will change from nights out to nappies, and whose lives might take a different direction to mine, but one day I'll sit on my bed and write a list with their names on and feel happy.

Because my main worry when it comes to friendships now, is remembering to post their cards.