It really sucks to be friends with me; sometimes.

I have some pretty kick ass friends.  Many have been in my life for close to twenty years.

I am lucky and I know it.  

There are times where not only do I know I'm a handful - but I often wonder WHY they put up with me.

One of my Besties has a birthday in January.
Actually in a couple days from writing this.
She lives two hours away in this great town, with a great family and a great house that is always welcoming, full of laughter, friends, food and fun.  I love being there and would stay forever if I could.

Unfortunately *sigh* I am always a mental mess for her birthday. Always. I hate it.

I feel like such a loser-asshole-waste of skin when I can't muster enough energy, emotion and effort to get in my damn car and visit her and all her wonderfulness.  

I bailed out of her 40th birthday. (Oh trust me, I know I'm an asshole)
My head couldn't do the drive, the party, the people, the whole shooting match.
I just.   Couldn't.    Do it.

People don't understand this.
I've tried to explain. At length. They just don't get it.
So I blamed by bailing on lack of funds. (this was true, just not the whole truth)

She text me yesterday and asked if I was coming to visit this weekend.

Every seasonally defected ounce of me wanted to find an excuse, make a date with my couch and let the chips fall where they may.
I told you, (sometimes) it sucks to be friends with me.

I didn't.
I said I would be there.
I will be.

Seasonal Defectiveness and all