Are you talking to me?

So it's been a while, huh? I've got that peculiar feeling I get when I run into someone that I haven't seen in a long time, and I'm not sure what we have in common any more. There's some superficial catch up chat for a while, and then (because I'm not very skillful at small talk) there's a bit of a gap in the conversation, as it slowly permeates that we've grown apart. Maybe we realise that, truthfully, we weren't really that close in the first place, that the previous friendship had been forced upon us through unchangeable circumstances - lectures, labs, shifts at a part time job. Maybe we never actually talked much, but merely had many friends in common. Maybe there was a reason we stopped talking that had faded into the misty marshland of memory. Perhaps nostalgia had tainted recollection with a vaseline lensed pink blur, romancing reminiscence with a rosy burnish like a thin coat of paint over an ugly mural.

Or not. Maybe we've just been busy. Maybe things have been getting on top of us - the ever multiplying responsibilities of growing up. Life. Job. Career. Family. Fucking big television. Washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Relationships. Loan repayments. Mobile phone, iTunes, study and petrol prices. Always more, always a list, always choices and priorities. Where do you fit in? Somewhere near the top? Ahead of writing? Yes. Ahead of servicing my bike? Probably. Ahead of assignments due this week? Probably not. Catch up this weekend? Sounds great. Friday's out - Saturday? Maybe - need a rest after the last few weeks. Sunday? Busy. How it goes, I suppose.

Of course, we could just settle back into friendship like a warm foot into an old moccasin. A little wiggling may be required to get that perfect position, but it's easy, and there's a confidence that this is how it's meant to be, that there is a perfect position to recover. These type of shoes you never want to throw out. I had a pair that I got in grade four that I finally let go on Sunday - they were more hole than shoe, but oh so comfy. They'd stretched from a size eight to a size twelve.

So what are we? I try to keep up with you. I read and I comment. I try to write, but writing also has a priority which may be usurped by upcoming exams, house hunting and wedding planning. But we're still good. Maybe my priorities are wrong - it's happened before. Perhaps some reorganisation is in order. Happiness - first. Everything else - next. What brings happiness? Well, that's the question... Reading and writing seem to be right up there. Something to think about. Helping people directly. Not in the delivery of public projects way I'm doing at the moment, but in a "What is your problem? Right, let's work on it together" sort of way. SD's post reminded me of some things I'd been thinking about a while ago - time to get onto those, I think.


So anyway, the attentive readers may have picked up that my girl agreed that I looked like a pretty good bet for the rest of our lives. I'm a lucky man. I'm getting married, and she's the most beautiful girl in the world (cliches are cliches because they work). Bring it on.