Making a difference, or the failure to do so
I've become rather depressed lately, thanks to having nothing to do between jobs but browse Facebook. I've been looking up old classmates and so forth, but I haven't been befriending them. What the hell, if we'd meant anything to each other we would have both looked each other up. I guess I never really left that much of an impression.
And then there's all the old friends I can't track down for love or money. They all seem to have disappeared off the face of the earth, and there's no way to find them, no way to get back in touch -- even making the unreasonable assumption that they WANT to. And how many of those lost old friends still think about me as often as I think about them? -- none of them, I imagine.
It's at times like these I realize how goddamn small my circle of friends really is (and has always been); I don't know ANYONE anymore. Though it's not as if I ever really did.
You know, books are a poor goddamn substitute for friends.
And then there's all the old friends I can't track down for love or money. They all seem to have disappeared off the face of the earth, and there's no way to find them, no way to get back in touch -- even making the unreasonable assumption that they WANT to. And how many of those lost old friends still think about me as often as I think about them? -- none of them, I imagine.
It's at times like these I realize how goddamn small my circle of friends really is (and has always been); I don't know ANYONE anymore. Though it's not as if I ever really did.
You know, books are a poor goddamn substitute for friends.