(almost eleven)

Works that mention certain things almost always invoke certain reactions in me. In this case, it’s a relationship that went on too long, for 11 years. I was wondering briefly if it was someone who turned 11 and felt they were too big for certain things, or even friends who found each other when they were almost 11 and broke up in adulthood, but – well, it’s 11 years of sort-of stability. And of being in and out. As happens with friends, because life happens. The interactivity is based around rumination about things that could've been done differently, or things we didn't notice until too late--or things we didn't notice

I’ve been sucker punched by people who told me I was lucky to have them in my life, not I, like the narrator, was being used for someone to lean on and then run away. There were people I was just glad they didn’t point out how unexciting I was. Or if they did, they provided ways to become more exciting!

But they never really asked me what I cared about. They just assumed their needs and wants were more important than mine. But they did come with a few superlatives, which it felt rude to turn down–before the next long rut. I felt I was ripping them off, since I could not offer superlatives back.

I took a while to realize these quasi-friends were in the way of what I wanted long-term, which was different from what they were pretty sure I wanted or should want, because friends help friends find what we really want, right? And of course some of them let me know I interfered with their long-term goals. Perhaps they implied they no longer had enough time for me, and my response was to do a complete reflexive 180 and make time for them to live, as kids these days say, rent-free in myhead.

And it cut another way, too. Some people, I wanted to be better friends with, but suggesting I'd be interested seemed an implication they were not that exciting. There are also some people whose lives I went in and out of because I figured they had enough friends, and it never struck me until recently that they may've thought I thought I could do better than them or felt brushed off. Then there are the people I haven't seen for, say, eleven years, wondering if I should've done better, or trying to place down a detail that makes me feel better about not wanting to be around them.

It’s tough to remember these things, but not so tough as it used to be. I have my own examples that parallel this work, and I wrote down a few more after. Some featured periods longer than eleven years, some less. "I took notes on this" seems like backhanded praise for an emotional piece, but to me it says, I experienced more or better than just an emotional spike.

The language in almost eleven is straightforward, but meaningful. The lack of melodrama works well enough, I’m worried this review may be way more melodramatic than its topic. But I hope this review is somewhere around as illuminating as almost eleven was to me.