A Little Help...

I promised myself I wouldn't cry on Friday. Not in a bar. Not at Sam's. My friends, my wonderful, amazing, awesome friends, gave up a significant portion of their Fourth of July holiday to help me load up and clean my apartment. With five rooms, a basement and a porch and and my own aversion to austerity, this was not an easy task. I've had the same best friend since the 9th grade. Technically we weren't best friends in the early days (but she'll kill me if I tell the locker partner story one more time), but now I really can't remember a time when she wasn't. She arrived early and with that look of disapproval I've come to expect (and appreciate). Things hit a snag when we found out the neighbors had discovered a young boy on their porch. My friends arrived and got to work. After the initial discomfort of realizing how much I really needed their help, we fell into the groove. Weary, they took off on their way and I found myself alone in my empty apartment. Every sound I made echoed. I thought about events that had transpired earlier in the week, I thought about difficult it was for me to leave my office and how good I felt when the firm's managing partner spoke highly of my character, I thought about other things. About how I didn't get have enough parties and how I never bought a good couch. How, I'll never get another un-housebroken dog. And I thought about how lucky I am to have such wonderful friends. One of those friends will be coming to see me in a few short weeks, making me a stop on her whirlwind Scrabble tour. I can't wait!