If you and I were to meet for coffee this morning, I'd most likely apologize for being late because I'm late to everything. Waking up when it's still dark outside makes the task of getting out of bed near impossible.
I'd probably pass on the java and order a hot tea. Ever since I caught a cold around Christmastime, I've been quite fond of soothing hot green tea with honey. Even Clayton is partaking in a nightly hot tea ritual while we watch our stories, meaning that our transformation into old people is nearly complete.
And I'd probably order a bagel with cream cheese because all I ever want to eat anymore is carbs.
You'd ask me how I am and what I've been up to (because you're such a good friend) and I'd give you a rushed sentence or two, but then immediately redirect the conversation back to you because I still have a hard time talking about myself. I might make the conversation slightly awkward with my deflection, but I'd apologize and reiterate that I'm just much better behind a pen or computer screen than I am in person.
But we're buddies, so you already knew that. :)
We'd likely update each other on our families, our jobs, the casual pieces of our lives. I'd divulge that despite owning the entire series on DVD, Clayton and I are binge-watching Friends on Neflix. I know for a fact that I'd then wax poetic about Jennifer Aniston's evolving haircuts on the show because that's all I talk about while I'm actually watching the show, too.
I'd also tell that I diagnosed myself with misophonia because I think the whole world is too loud.
And that I'm still debating cutting a lot of my hair off, but I'm just nervous that shorter fine hair will look even worse.
Then once I feel comfortable with the flow of conversation, we'd get real. I'd tell you how I seriously struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder and that I think it's stupid they named it as such, making the literal acronym SAD. And that for someone who struggles with random, inexplicable bouts of depression, experiencing SAD is like getting punched in the face twice.
And that I feel guilty about being down when I don't really have anything to be down about.
But that actually just makes me feel worse.
And that I feel frustrated a lot. And I really hate that feeling, too.
Then I'd most likely suggest we just scrap the coffee house and go get a cocktail.
And you'd gently remind me that it's 9 a.m.
You're a sweet soul, so you'd be encouraging and say something uplifting. And I'm confident that I would do the same for you when you share your struggles with me.
We'd talk a little more, laugh a lot, and spend the next several minutes basking in the joy of having a good girlfriend.
We'd part ways after a hug (that I managed to make uncomfortable because I never know how long is too long and sometimes I just like a really good hug) and I'd spend the drive home wondering if I shared too much, suddenly feeling embarrassed for no reason.
But I wouldn't have long to worry about it because the second I got home, I'd go right back to bed because being a grown-up is hard.