Ode to Audrey

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post about how angry I was feeling with certain aspects of my life. In that post I referred to two different people. One of them, the male, was very understanding. He apologised for hurting me, and told me he wished he could express himself the way I do in my blog.

The other one didn't take it so well. A short time after I posted, I had a text message from her. An angry, offended message. I told her that I hadn't meant to upset her, that I was just being honest. I haven't heard anything from her since. Nothing. At all. It looks like that friendship is over.

And I am extraordinarly sad about that. I've known her for four and a half years, and in that time she completely changed my life. We are very, very different people, but we have a lot in common too. We both love America. We both struggle with depression. We both find rockers extremely attractive. We both love peanut butter. We both like crafting.

In fact, she was the person who taught me to knit. For months and months I would cross stitch while she would knit, and she would offer to teach me, and I would tell her to sod off. And eventually I gave in. And I am so grateful that I did. I love knitting, and knitting lead to crochet, which I also love.

She taught me a lot. Before her, I'd wear jeans and a t-shirt. I always had my hair up in a ponytail. Now I wear dresses, and skirts, and jewellery, and I get haircuts, and hairstyles (ish), and very occasionally I wear a bit of makeup. I'm still not a girly-girl, but I'm ever so slightly more refined that I was before her.

I have a tattoo that represents her. I always said I wouldn't get tattoos for people, but I decided that even if we never spoke again, she'd had such a huge impact on my life that I wanted to commemorate that. So on my back I have a red heart intertwined with a purple star. The red heart represents her, and the purple star is for me. Red was always her colour, and she doodles a curly heart beneath her signature. And my favourite colour is purple, and my signature shape is a star.

I influenced her a little too. At least, I like to think so. She now has that swirly heart tattooed on her hip. And hopefully I rubbed off a little bit of her "goody two shoes". I made her a little bit badder, and she made me a little bit gooder. And let's ignore that horrendously bad grammar.

I'm glad that she is happy with her boyfriend, and her job, and her life. And I want nothing more than for her happiness to last. But I am very sad that I can't be a part of what makes her happy.

I think about her a lot. When I think a rnadom thought, or have something to celebrate, or something to commiserate, I still want to text her. And everything reminds me of her. One of the handmade soaps that I received this morning smells like J'adore, her signature perfume. I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which made me think of her. I found an old theatre ticket. I saw an advert for Wicked.

We did a lot, she and I. There was That Summer - lots of debauchery I shall not get into. And several incidents involving alcohol. All of which make me smile now that I look back at them. She was my "plus one" at my aunt's birthday party, and at my sister's wedding. She met, and enchanted, my entire family. She helped me rehome my cat, and collect several cats, and collect and rehome a rabbit. We shopped in Camden, and cried during a theatre trip to Wicked. We saw comedians, and dodgy musical shows, and brilliant musicals. I will never hear a song from Wicked and not think about her. Or Joseph the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Or Phantom of the Opera. I will never watch Strictly Come Dancing without thinking about her. Or a vampire movie. Or a Spiderman movie. Or read a vampire novel. Or eat a quiche. Or a Morrison's salad, or drink milkshake, or eat a doughnut without thinking about her. I will never go to a circus without thinking about her. I'll stop here. I could write an encyclopedia of things that will remind me of her.

I love her, and I miss her, and I hope our estrangement will end at some point in the future.

I do have to say though, that I don't regret that post. I regret that I hurt her, but I don't regret using my blog to vent my frustrations.
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