declaration of independence

I'm sitting on the train on the way back from Basingstoke when an old school friend comes rushing in and sits down near me and Danielle. She's all gushing and smiling and so incredibly friendly that I'm suspicious. I'm being paranoid.
"So what are you up to these days?" She grins like she really wants to know, and I'm frightened because I don't know why.
I mutter about 6th form, A-levels, stuff, applying to uni.
"No, what do you do? Where do you go, what pubs and clubs?"
"Umm. I'm 17."
She looks expectant.
"Yeah..?"
I am forced to admit that I do not go to pubs and clubs, that I do not get served, have never been served, and will probably still be flashing ID when I'm thirty. She looks sympathetic. She's probably been getting served since she was 9. I decide not to mention that I probably could get served if I was capable of applying make-up, keeping a straight face and lying without blushing.

My school buddy continues. Why wasn't I at her eighteenth birthday party?
I remember, through a haze, that at the eighteenth birthday of another acquaintance (I wasn't invited to that one, but I infiltrated it quite nicely. Half the people had forgotten who I was. "Ohmigod, it's you, Roxanne!" said this guy who was in my class for five years, hugging me), this girl had invited me to her party.
"Why weren't you there, you bitch!" she squeals, in what I think is a teasing way.
"I was in Scotland, my nan died, we had to go to her funeral."
"Ohmigod, I'm so sorry!"
"S'alright," I smile, "You didn't kill her, did you?"
School buddy looks at me and then pretends that I never said anything and continues. I love making people do that.
"It was a good bash though. I was a bit disappointed, a lot of people didn't show, but never mind, it was nice, just my close friends, you know?"
Danielle and I umm and ahh over this. Yes, big parties are nice, but isn't it better to spend quality time with the ones you love?
"Yeah..." her facial expression doesn't change, it's almost an afterthought. "Only about a hundred people in the end..."
I wince as my jaw hits my kneecap.

Later, Danielle and I are still in awe of this. We console ourselves, they can't all be her close friends, acquaintances maybe but even the most popular girl would be pushed to raise a hundred people for a party. She's just flaunting it to big herself up, right? Right? We're not losers, are we??

That was Monday. Yesterday, I was talking to a friend who had just gone through his phone book and found himself with a list of acquaintances about 250 people long. I was stunned. But thinking about it, I can see how it happens.
I'm like that. I have lots of people who I would like to keep in touch with, if I was organised enough to have a phone book that is. I don't claim to have a list of people 250 long, but I know far more people than I ever really think about, or will ever really be close to.

That's the thing. You can have as many people as you want around you, or in my case, as many different circles of friends as you like, but you can't be close to all of them. For people who collect people, that's kind of the point. The guy with 250 people said that out of all the many people he'd ever met, he'd written a list of 20 people he'd like to be close to. That's still an awful lot of people in my eyes, but it's a good excercise.

Try it. Think of all the people you'd call a friend, or a mate, or a bitch, or whatever you call them. Then think. How many of these do I think I'll always be friends with? How many do I really know? How many really know me? How many of the people I'm surrounded by can I actually talk to? That last one's important. Count the number of people you can talk to, and if there's not enough, then damn well start learning to talk to people better.

*******
I don't wanna be your other half; I believe that one and one make two.
Alanis Morrisette.

Speaking of talking and sharing... I'm never sure how much you're meant to share on a blog, but I figure I've told whoever's out there plenty already so... I broke up with my boyfriend of 11 months on Monday night. It's unbearably sad, all of a sudden every song on the radio is one of ours, every thing someone says is our private joke, every film I own is one we watched together. We are entering, dear readers, a whole new era for me. That's right, I'm going for a little of the old 'self-enforced singledom' that I never even considered til last summer.

A friend of mine had gone on a DNA discipleship course a year previously and had just finished the compulsory year of singlehood that the course imposes on its members for the year after they finish. Uh? The course is meant to be such a radically life-changing experience that the rulebook insists that to start any new relationships immediately afterwards, while you're still emotionally and spiritually vulnerable is potentially bad news.
I don't know if I like the level of interference in that rule, but I deeply respect the thought behind it. Everyone needs time on their own, to sort their head out, figure out what they want, make sure they're OK. I strongly believe that I am a whole person, with or without boyfriend. I'm not feeling very whole right now, I'm confused and not entirely confident about myself or anything I'm doing.

What I want is to dash out and find myself a replacement boyfriend. I want someone to cling to, I want to be weak and completely and utterly co-dependent. But I'm not going to. I depend on my God and myself, my family and my friends, not the nearest bloke who'll take me. On Monday night, my ex told me that he wanted me to be happy. He said something to the effect of - you should go and be your own person, go and do whatever it is that makes you OK, find a way to sort yourself out and make yourself happy. So I'm going to. And there's no way I can do that in a relationship - I'll do it single or not at all.