The MFA application is in the mail. I should hear early to mid-March whether I am accepted or not. Whatever the outcome, I'm really proud of myself. I've never worked as hard on anything in my life as I did on that application, and I know that if I don't get in then it was because of one of the million billion things that happen to writers that will be out of my control.
Of course now I don't have the application to worry about, so I'm left to think. I've been thinking about friends, and how in my lifetime I've only "lost" two friends. I'm very selective about who I bring into my circle because I depend on my friends like siblings. As I've grown up friends have drifted in and out of my life. Through school, college, jobs, and other experiences I've had a lot of friends who are there for awhile and then we drift apart. I look back on these friendships fondly and with joy. Some I exchange Christmas cards with, others I just look at pictures and remember all the times we laughed ourselves crazy, drank together, cried together, shared secrets we swore we'd never tell anyone else, never saying goodbye.
It's the two losses that I mourn. One I lost to a fight, a stupid situation that didn't involve either one of us specifically, but we argued over miscommunication and our friendship ended. She and I would go months without talking, then call each other on the same day and joke about how we were connected on a subconscious level. This fight happened when we were young, twenty-five, and more concerned with being right and being in control than having a lasting friendship. She and I will never talk again--I don't even know where she is--but I imagine that during the times I think of her we are still connected enough that she thinks of me as well.
The other is recent, and a substantially more painful loss. A man came into my life and became a true friend quickly. We shared interests, laughed together, teased each other, talked about books and literature, writing, movies, music, and I felt blessed that our paths had crossed. It was chance that we met, a mutual desire for friendship that we continued to grow closer together. Our frienship ended and I still don't quite know why. He changed, I probably did too, and though it seemed we'd be able to keep our friendship going through a tumultous time, that seemed to change overnight. Suddenly he was thoughtless, hurtful, and I became someone I'm not; I said hurtful things. My pride keeps me from contacting him; I don't know what keeps him from contacting me except that I must not have been the friend he thought I was.
Friendships to an only child are everything. They're all we have. I can accept growing apart, a lessing of the bonds that tie us together. What I can't accept is a willful ending of friendships. It seems unnatural to me to wake up one morning and suddenly not care.
I don't know. Like I said, I've got too much time to think.