So, here’s the deal: I had some heart arrythmia last night, so I was in recovery for HOURS.
But the cardiologist said today it was no big deal. i’m probably going to cut back on the caffeine, though.
In other news, I’m supposed to start walking around tomorrow, and my mom didn’t bring my clothes to me before she went home. So, the lovely, amazing Mallory went to Target to buy me underwear. She is seriously the best friend in the world.
For those of you who haven’t heard me describe my best friend, take note:
This will be our 12th New Year’s Eve together.
We first began spending time together in 2000, because we were both taking the creative writing class offered at Phoebus High School.
I can’t really think of how to describe our friendship. We know each other’s secrets, and would never share them. We have inside jokes that last for years. We share the good times and support each other during the dark times; deaths, injuries, breakups, unemployment, family sickness, birthdays, new years, moving, unrequited crushes (SO MANY CRUSHES OMG), the flu, concerts in the rain, competitive board games, giant bugs. Mallory is one of few people on the planet I would physically fight for. I will defend her to the death and if someone insults her or makes her feel bad about anything, I see red. I’ve been known to yell at people if they’re mean to her.
We’ve shared so much sometimes I wonder how we could ever function apart. It may be codependent and occasionally intimidating to anyone trying to befriend us, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. A friend of mine last week said “Wow, you guys do a have a special relationship. Do you like, sing ballads to her when you’re in the house?”
Maybe I do? What of it?
We’ve joked about how we’ll never have boyfriends because we only love each other, but that’s not true at all. We have lots of room in our hearts, for sure. The only stipulation to our romantic lives is that the guy has to like the roomie enough to conspire with her on Christmas and birthday gifts.
Mallory came to the hospital today bearing ChicFilA, a peppermint mocha, and perfume and happy pants from the Gap outlets. Later she went to Target to buy me underwear.
Honestly when she walked into my hospital room today, a wave of relief washed over me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see someone. I love my mom, but we can only stand so much of each other.
Anyone, I think, would feel weird buying underwear for someone else, but not Mal. She bought the right color, size and style; the same ones I would have bought myself. Mallory holds my heart and owns my ass.
I’m writing this all loopy on pain meds, so this isn’t by any means particularly well-written. Sorry!