It�s funny how I can miss something so bad without wanting it back.

Doing errands over the weekend I walked past my old friend�s apartment building. We had so much fun there, oh my God. Smashed out of our minds on a Tuesday night, crouched on the crappy futon couch yakking each other�s ears off, the coffee table strewn with drinks and debris. Somehow those weeknight parties were the most fun, the pressure of work in the morning compressing the time like a diamond. We danced like freaks to songs we loved from college. One night he went to open the window and put his hand right through. Miraculously there was no blood. We just laughed.

Do I want it back? No. I don�t want the hangover, the heart palpitations, the stale sweat. I don�t want the horrible feeling of time slipping out from under me. �Fuck, it�s 4:00 a.m.� I don�t want to be so dependent on a friend who doesn�t need me back.

That�s a theoretical example, though, because I couldn�t get that back even if I wanted. There are other things I miss that I could have back. Walking home from the train station every day, I think about how I�m not going to the liquor store. I�m not stepping through those doors and greeting my options for the evening. I�m not throwing in a packet of peanuts or chips for dinner. I�m not headed home with a heavy bag (as comforting as a stuffed animal) under my arm.

I miss that. I grieve for that. I could have it back, if I wanted. I get to decide every day whether I want it or not. Well, that�s not quite true -- I�m being melodramatic. Sometimes, walking home these days, I forget to even think about it.

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