I am bringing my blog to google, because I think it looks better, but if you want to see my earlier posts, look here
http://chmchm.livejournal.com/
I found out recently that my first friend, ever, has died. Her mom said she found her blue bird uniform while going thru her stuff. Her mom was our troup leader. We did all kinds of crazy things together; made water beds for our barbies out of zip lock bags so that barbie and ken would have a groovy place to do it, we lit fires in her back yard, we ate bananas that we would infuse with dog food, we learned to make pancakes on the griddle waiting for them to bubble and how to melt cheese crackers in that new fangled contraption they called a microwave. We listened to Steve Miller on her dad's stereo, I had never seen a stereo before then, and then would run for cover if he found out. We actually had to do chores at her house on Saturdays, washing windows with newspapers. Her life was so much different than mine and I loved being with her. She moved away while we were still in grade school and I would run into her now and again. The last time I saw her, 3 or 4 years ago, we exchanged phone numbers but I didn't call her. I was in a different place. I tried to call her a few weeks before she died and she never called back. I will never know why.
She died because her body wore out from doing so many drugs. She isn't the first person I know that this has happened to. It will never seem normal or OK to me. It takes that part of your history and fucks with it somehow. I feel helpless and guilty. I told her ex husband I should have been a better friend to her, and he said, nobody could have been a better friend, that wasn't what she was looking for. Sadly, I don't think death was what she was looking for either. But maybe I am wrong. RIP Ruth. Hope you find it.
