Bad Timing

My sister-in-law Julie came bouncing into my bedroom this morning like a frolicsome bunny. (And by bedroom, I mean the room in which I sleep on a bunch of blankets in the corner.) I was feeling guilty about creeping into the house at 2 a.m. last night, waking the dog and disturbing everyone's sleep, so I was up, having roused myself as soon as I heard their voices in the living room, and pretending to be studying. She was in a great mood, which was good, because she's kind of been mooning around the past week or so. Apparently yesterday she had stayed home alone while my brother went out and just played guitar and sang her lungs out to mellow country songs all night. And that raised her spirits. Not exactly my idea of a fun Friday night, but hey, that might just be because I can't sing. Or play guitar.

Anyway, she decided I had to hear one of the songs that she had taught herself. She's Canadian, so she's into Blue Rodeo. Do you know the song "Bad Timing"? she asked, all smiles. Not waiting for a response (well I guess she knew the answer would be no) she put it on the stereo and started plunking away on the guitar.

At first I didn't really listen, having heard some Blue Rodeo before and not being terribly into it. But then the song started to draw me in; I'm not a fan of country but it is a beautifully composed ballad about lost love (of course). Anyway, before I knew it I was thinking of Andrew and all our ups-and-downs and how absolutely dead and defeated I felt about our relationship. And started crying, hard but quietly. I was really grateful when the song was over because I had turned myself over in the bed (I mean, my pile of blankets) and Julie hadn't noticed. But then she started playing the song AGAIN, saying Man this song is so good! And then Miso (the dog) came over and began crawling all over my face, making me laugh, but the laugh came out as this really weird gurgle because of the crying. So then Julie noticed and was like, Oh crap I'm sorry! I didn't think! I'm turning it off I'm turning it off! And then she tried to tickle me to make me feel better, like I was five years old and had just dropped my ice-cream cone into the gutter. I guess it kind of worked, because she made me feel so silly I ended up gurgling some more.

* * *

So my friend told me that his long-time usually long-distance girlfriend who is back in town for the summer is feeling that their relationship has become distant. They don't talk anymore. So, to rectify the situation, the girlfriend has requested my friend to write her a letter every week explaining his feelings. She will do the same and write letters to him. This is all intended to draw them closer. My friend is skeptical about this idea, which the girlfriend apparently got from Dr. Phil. But being a good sport, he has written his first letter.

When I was in college, I brought a little diary with a cute picture of a blue cartoon bear. The purpose of the diary was so that my boyfriend at the time, Henry, and I, could draw closer by sharing our feelings. Henry would keep the diary for a week and write an entry every night, and the next week I would take it, read what he wrote, and write my own entries. We actually did this for a good six months. Henry wrote a lot more than I did. I always have good intentions about keeping journals and diaries and whatnot but my record for keeping them is pretty poor. (I'll be really impressed with myself if this blog doesn't end up falling completely by the wayside.) Henry ended up getting a little sulky a few times because he would pour out pages upon sincere pages in a week and I would write short, perfunctory messages. I was pretty terrible. Henry was a really good guy.

So. How much does Dr. Phil get paid to dole out his precious bits of advice about relationships? Because I could do his job. Pish. I thought of the whole writing-letters-to-each-other-weekly thing years ago.