Happy 2012, everyone.

I know that this update is a long time in coming, and I regret in some ways that I start this year’s blogging with this particular subject and not something else better suited in looking forward to the new year.

At last, it’s finally here — the year 2012. It may mean the end of the world to some, but to me, I see it as the the dawn of a better day. “Why,” you may ask. After three years of living in a town I wasn’t meant to return to, Miles will soon finish his Bachelor’s and we’ll move to the only school that houses his Master’s program — FAR AWAY FROM HERE. After getting fatter, more cynical, lonelier and just downright more confused, it’s about fucking time to move to the next stage in our lives and partake of so many more opportunities that lay in store for us.

With that thought comes all the usual apprehensions that plague a mover. “Oh shit, I’ve got to pack. Oh shit, what if the house sells too early? Oh shit, what if it takes forever to sell the house? Oh shit, I need to find a job! Oh shit, what are we going to do about financial aid? Oh shit, we need to find an apartment! Oh shit, WE’RE MOVING!!!!!“

However, I doubt that anyone’s first thoughts when preparing for a move is, “Oh shit, will the people like me? Oh shit, will I ever make friends again?”

I know this is a really weird thing to worry about, especially for me. I do have friends I keep up with on a fairly regular basis. We have friends over almost every week for game night (when all of us aren’t busy). Still, looking at my sister earlier today as we were talking made me realize something. Somehow, someway, somewhere…our relationship changed. It’s definitely not the same. During my college years, Sylvia and I became really close. We found out hard-hitting things together about our family that brought us closer. Maybe it was because we shared the same experiences and same journey that we became so close. I remember having really shitty afternoons working at the retail store I found myself at after college, and she would take me to get slushies and then take this back road into the countryside listening to music and just talking. We’d talk about what was bothering us. We’d talk about our dreams. We’d talk about almost anything. I think that’s what I miss the most — is the talking. Those heart-to-hearts encouraged me and made me feel like I wasn’t on this alone. Those times made me feel like I mattered in this huge world.

Now, I hardly see her but once a week, and only if she and her husband aren’t busy with one thing or another. Little by little, I feel her slipping away from me, as though she’s this person I only know of at family gatherings. I know she’s busy, and I know that marriage is like this at times and really is about getting to know your spouse…but why do I feel like I’m being cast off like old boots for new and improved sisters? I hate feeling like that. Sylvia isn’t like that. She’s not that vindictive. It’s just…I’ve heard of her taking a girls’ night with other people, and I don’t remember the last time she’s done that with me. And it hurts. Is it because I haven’t made the effort? Probably so, but I only did that because I hate being the infringing one for anyone. If someone says they can’t or they’re busy, I smile and say, “It’s all good. Just thought it might be fun, no big” when I’m really disappointed and slightly heartbroken inside. Also, some days, I don’t want to share her with anyone. Is that too selfish of me? At this point, I can never tell. I just grab another cupcake to wash down with the wine that I drink by myself in this quiet storm I find myself in. I crave the encouraging sisterhood once more, but I have yet to learn how to speak the magic words to herald it to me.

Oh shit, why am I me?