Friends. Sometimes I think they’re the best things to happen to us, maybe even more so than family. They don’t ground you or kick you out when you make moronic decisions, and when they start to get on your nerves you can always dump their ass. God, that sounds horrible. My point is that friends are very, very important.
But despite our best intentions, we still let them slip through our fingers. We say we’d keep in touch and stay tight forever, but that’s just not how life works. And not how people work. Our circumstances and ourselves change too drastically and too frequently. Over the years, I’ve probably had four or five different best friends, none of whom I’ve talked to in a long time. It’s weird to think that at one point I told those people, especially the two from sophomore year in New Zealand, almost everything I believed in, dreaded, and dreamed about. If you’d ask me back then, I’d probably be crushed to think that once we go our separate ways I’d lose completely lose touch with them. How can you just never again talk to someone who holds some of your deepest, most humiliating secrets?
The truth is, however, I no longer feel anything about them. I mean, I still have a vague idea of what they’re up to through social media, mostly on Instagram and Facebook, but I haven’t personally chatted any of them in months or even years. It’s not a conscious decision on my or their (I think not, anyway) part; it just happened naturally. The people we were when we became friends are not the people we are now, and as we change we will drift apart. Maybe adolescent friendships are just meant to be temporary. Or…I don’t know if this sounds awful or not, but maybe those friendships just weren’t worth maintaining. Maybe the friends we make in middle school or high school are never meant to be a part of our real lives. Because if they really mattered, it would probably bother us a little when we no longer have them to confide in. Friends who truly made an impression on you don’t just sink into oblivion.
It’s been a year and a half since high school ended and I still talk to only about six or seven people. They’re probably the closest friends I’ve ever had, and I do envision us meeting up in different cities every five years or so and discussing all the stupid crap we’ve done. I hope we do, but maybe we won’t. Either ways, we’ve still had the most wonderful times together. We’ll have more friends who fade away than friends who stay. So with friendships, maybe it’s the experiences and memories that really matter.
Truth is, I think I feel sicker with a healthy kidney than I ever did with two shitty ones. In fact, I think I feel sicker now than I ever have in my life. In eight years with two shitty kidneys, I’ve never been hospitalized longer than a day, never been bombarded with a dozen drugs a dozen times a day, never had to pee out of a tube, never had to lie still for more than 24 hours because it hurt too much to even turn to the side.
Yet science is still stubbornly telling me that I’m actually healthy for the first time in almost a decade. Urine’s clear. Blood pressure’s steady. Creatine’s normal. Phos, Potassium, Calcium levels. All normal. As awful as I may be feeling right now, my organs are apparently in Seventh Heaven. One thing I realized while I spent hours staring at the stupid white ceiling is that science knows the truth before our heads do, and that sometimes things have to get worse before they get better.
My friend Cassandra just asked me to look over her essay, which her teacher apparently believes lacks some kind of “deeper meaning.” College writing classes. Fucking hell. Professors just love to mess with us using phrases that sound eloquent and constructive but actually don’t mean anything.
It’s looking great so far, but I think you can dig even deeper.
I’m loving the flow of your arguments, but I think they can be even clearer.
The idea is fantastic, but I think you can squeeze a bit more juice out of the texts.
HUH?? They always start off with something positive to get you excited and motivated…then they all turn into fucking Yoda and throw you the most confusing pseudo-philosophical bull-crap. What does clearer or deeper even mean?? Are my arguments a freaking window that I can simply wipe harder to see through more clearly? Writing is a physical process, thinking is a mental one. It’s difficult to synchronize the two without concrete, understandable direction. I appreciate that professors try to avoid using any specific guidelines to influence our thoughts and our writing styles. After all, college is supposed to be a step up from high school. Essays get longer and more complicated. Expectations increase and rules decrease. I know that colleges want to train us into original thinkers instead of followers, but we need clear guidance to improve. Telling us to “dig deeper” at the text’s “deeper significance” won’t help us become better readers or writers.
Maybe the main reason for all this ambiguity is because professors don’t want to hurt or discourage us. I mean, “they can be clearer” sure as hell sounds better than “your grammar sucks shit” or “I don’t understand what the fuck you’re trying to say.” I certainly don’t miss being graded down for not having enough time to complete my stupid conclusion or for inserting one less quote than required, but a bit of clarity about what’s expected can definitely be helpful. How about tell us to “dig deeper” at a particular idea? Or that certain words/phrases in paragraph X can be made “clearer” to further develop the argument? A bit of direction won’t stop us from generating original ideas. We just don’t want to be grasping at straws all the time.