I am a terrible friend.
That sentence would stand alone and end this particular blog post except for one thing. I am blessed with fantastic friends. And they would protest vehemently. So, since I do not want my blog overrun with protesting friends, some of whom are post-menopausal and, I must admit, quite scary at times, I feel the need to elaborate on my opening statement and, perhaps, lend a bit of credence to my self-assessment.
Most of my friends live in states other than the one in which I reside. I live in Kentucky, and they live in places like Georgia, Michigan, Ohio, and so on. Because of this, I don't get to see them very often, so we rely heavily on cell phones and email to keep in touch. We also rely on the US Postal Service and UPS to keep us connected for things such as Christmas and birthdays. I do pretty well on the email and cell phone side of things. I am a master at calling people, usually at the most inopportune moments, but I do call. I also do fairly well at answering email, although my relatively new occupation that requires me to sit in front of a computer for eight hours a day has put a damper on my previous email enthusiasm. I used to run to my laptop every morning, pop open the lid, and scroll through all the email for the day, excitedly answering each one with just the right combination of humor, sincerity, and warmth. Now, I'm lucky if I check my inbox three times a week. I still enjoy sending and receiving the missives from my friends and family, I just hate that it's via an impersonal computer screen that I stare at for the majority of my waking hours anyhow. What was once an exciting pastime has become my taskmaster.
But my real problem, the one that I have tried, unsuccessfully I might add, to overcome is the mailing of Christmas and birthday gifts. I just cannot seem to get the things mailed in a timely manner. For example, just this week, one of my best friends had a birthday. No, I did not forget it. No, I did not have to scramble at the last minute to figure out what to get her and where to get it. I actually got her present more than a week in advance of her actual birthday. No, I was not waiting for my paycheck so I could afford the postage to send it. No, I was not waiting for inspiration to strike me in regards to which birthday card to send. No, I did not even have to go to the post office personally to mail the package; my husband has more flexibility in his home work schedule than I do and is more than willing to mail anything I set by the front door. And no, unfortunately, I did not get her gift mailed to her on time. Worse than that, her birthday was yesterday and I didn't mail the box until today.
I have tried to put the most positive spin on this little problem of mine that I possibly can. "My gift is so great that you'll not want to open it with the rest of the more mundane gifts you receive." Or perhaps, "Just look at it this way. Knowing that a present is coming in the mail later this week will allow you to extend the celebration of your birthday long after the candles have burnt out.". Or, if I'm honest with myself and want to share the whole truth. "I am the world's greatest procrastinator and I just cannot seem to get my act together well enough to mail a stinking box on time." Ah, yes. The truth is not always pretty.
To make matters worse, my friends not only forgive me my shortcoming, they have learned to adapt to it. My aforementioned friend, the one who had a birthday yesterday and is the latest victim of my sloth, told me it was not a problem. If she ever did receive a package from me on time, she would let it sit for a few days before she opened it anyhow or it wouldn't seem right. She also said she would think something was seriously wrong with me if she ever got a box on time. So now, if I ever do get my act together, I'm going to have to send a disclaimer with every present to let people know I haven't been diagnosed with a terminal illness and I'm not foreseeing my own demise. Not that I'll ever have to draft such a notice.
But the worst part of all, the part that keeps me kicking myself and writing angst-ridden blog posts, is that they are always on time. Always. I have never celebrated Christmas or a birthday without being surrounded by a pile of cards and boxes from my out-of-town friends which have usually arrived days before the actual event. And year after year, those cards and boxes keep coming, even though each and every one of them knows that I am going to be late. Pretty amazing bunch of friends, eh?
And that is the mystery. Each of these women is a busy professional with demanding jobs and families, either two-legged or four-legged, to take care of. They all have careers that keep them from their homes and loved ones for the better part of the day. They are smart, capable, strong women who are creative, intelligent, and just plain fun to be with. And they choose to be my friends even though they know they'll never see a birthday or Christmas package without my standard profuse apologies for being late once again. It absolutely boggles the mind. I can't for the life of me imagine why they put up with me. But my life has been so enriched because they do.
I hope they know how much they mean to me, how much I admire and respect them, and how much I love them. And I hope that is enough to make up for my shortcomings.
