MAN ON THE MOON

A stranger is a friend you've never met. And some friends, you don't even get to meet at all.

". . . so here's a toast! Champagne for my real friends, and real pain for my sham friends."

"I think I'll call you Speed Date Girl."

It was past midnight when I saw that she was online. No, I didn't meet her during speed dating and no we're not dating. The best friend of Becky, my college friend just happened to, all of a sudden, hit me through messenger after . . . come to think of it, she never sent me a message nor even talked to me before. Aside from the occasional nod, smile or "hi." (which is hardly even talking) as we passed each other in campus, I couldn't recall any other form of exchange we ever had.

I'm still suffering from post break-up insomnia and she's working the graveyard. What started as, "My friend's organizing a speed dating event on Saturday, would you like to come? Meeting new people might be good for you." was followed by nights of exchanging remarkable similarities of interest. Gaiman, Dishwalla, perpetually staying on line, poker, a fondness for alcohol and even food. And though speed dating's not exactly my thing, I was glad she was around, night after night, to keep my mind from caving-in due to depression.

It's the darnest thing ain't it? To have none of all the countless "friends" you thought you had in times that you're in a slump only to find that there's someone else with you, who you didn't expect to find. And you get crappy sounding advice which you inadvertently follow which apparently makes the situation you're in, not a long way better, but better nonetheless.

"Why don't you go out? Get a life!"

The next day, I went to a medical mission with two of my closest buddies, had a road trip and had the most fun I've had in months. But that's another story altogether.

"Do I have to put something in the title or just paste the HTML code?"

"No, but you could. Like, AM I FAMOUS YET?"

"Hahaha! You crack me up!"

I don't know if I'll ever get to see Speed Date Girl again or even get to hear the sound of her voice. And she might not even know that she's helping me through this extremely tough time. But one thing's for sure, even after all the zero's of my AM I FAMOUS YET? blog visits counter become all 9's, I'll remember her. And maybe then, we'll meet and knock back a brew to toast famous little old me.

FLAT

Life is like a wheel. Sometimes you're up and other times you're down. But sometimes, just when you're down, you get a flat.

It's Thursday. I wake up to the rambling outside my bedroom door, calling me out to lunch. I wasn't hungry. After dismissing the maid with an irritated moan I made sure was heard outside, I went back to sleep. A few hours later, I checked my phone for messages I was almost sure weren't there then I finally slugged off to take a shower and set what's left of the day to finish what I started 3 days ago. My arms still hurt and I'm not even sure if it's from lifting weights all night or from moving all the stuff in my room which I managed to put in an organized mess.

Ten years have passed since I was an honor student in highschool, president of my class, played soccer, a member of the national team and had one more thing that I'm certain was the envy of every other guy I knew. A medical degree and 40 pounds later I'm wondering how the hell I even got here. While everybody else was probably busy getting their papers done to get matched for medical internship, I've spent half the week searching the corners of this room for the drive to get out there and move forward.

In my mind, I knew it to be true. I said it more than a million times. A million times for ten years. But after ten years, i guess it wasn't enough.

It's just as they described it, a hollowness that chews you up to the core leaving you with a lingering feeling of nothingness so profound it just sucks you dry. Bones ache, thoughts race. You desperately try to do anything to keep your mind off of it. Discover that in closing your eyes at the break of dawn, the thoughts return to riot. You sleep but wake up exhausted. Alone.

It was, as they say, a good one. No arms flinged across the face, no harsh words exchanged, no voices were raised. Good.

We met again weeks after, in a party. We talked in between bouts of me entertaining my guests. Everything was swell and splendid. The night eneded. A hug at her door. We were both smiling as we said good night.

"It was fun growing up with you."

That hurt more than anyone would ever care to know.

You see, there's never really a good one. Tears stream and the pain is so real. A treasured past dies and a planned future dies with it. There's never a good one. There's only bad and there's worse.