I hung out with a friend the other day. She’s awesome and I love her — but I’m not convinced we are actually friends.
She’s one of those call me when she’s driving from location A to location B type of friends. Call me for a random hang out on a whim if she has no plans type of friends. Call in the middle of the night crying when some douchebag breaks her heart kind of friends.
Admittedly, she probably would answer the phone if I needed to kill time while driving. She would probably hear me out if I was having a crisis. There are those times when we talk that I’m like,”Whew, I’m glad she is in my life.”
I think we’re friends, after all.
We had fun hanging out, I think. She came, we grabbed Starbucks, and saw a movie. We talked about shallow stuff. It felt dishonest. It’s like we didn’t even know each other.
Our time was limited. I felt like I was squeezed between the beginning and ending of her busy day. I had cleared my calendar so we could catch up. Oops. I suppose I can’t blame someone for being busy. I’m pretty busy too, after all.
But is that what friendship is about? Convenience? Did we trade time-slots with one another? Couldn’t we have easily switched out one another for someone different, and come out at the end of the night feeling exactly the same?
I don’t know how else to compare it except to a relationship that has lost its first love, minus the commitment (and minus the romance of course). We were kind and civil and non-confrontational. I suppose that’s the most you can ask for sometimes.
Then again, I don’t know. I think I spend more time thinking about and conversing with my enemies.
There’s love — preferable. There’s hate — acceptable. But then there’s apathy — nothing.