21 April 2013

Realising the futility of it all is progress. I think.

A few weeks ago I wrote a blog entitled "Who gives a fuck?" It was intended to be rhetorical; one or two nice people posted nice replies, but mostly it was, as I expected a deafening silence.

None of the people I care about, and I would have hoped cared about me, said anything. After I abandoned my trip to a club night I was really looking forward to, nobody acknowledged my absence. I can only conclude that I remain alone in this world.

And I keep finding myself resenting the kindnesses I try to do for others. Of course I don't expect anything in return, and if my life was more full I wouldn't even notice. But it isn't. So I do.

I hate that if I dropped off the grid, nobody but my close relatives and a handful of friends half a world away would even notice that I'd gone. But it's true.

I often think about that much-devalued word 'friend'. Nobody can truly count as friends those who would mourn their passing. I could list those on the back of a postage stamp, and still have space to write a shopping list.

True friends are the ones who miss you, who track you down because they've not seen you or heard from you. How many of us, in this increasingly virtual world, can honestly claim there are many?