The Best of Friends

 

This post could be more aptly titled: The Value of Great Non Judgmental Friends When You’re an Angry Little Troll.

 

But that would have been too long.

 

First of all, I very much am an angry little troll, and I do have fantastic friends who don’t judge. They’re great to have.

 

There you go, end of the post.

 

No, but seriously. Yesterday was an off day for me, and I still haven’t entirely got it out of my system. It all started on Monday, to be honest, when I saw the announcement on Facebook that someone I thought I’d never have to see again was coming back to my town. (This is why my husband says Facebook sucks. I can’t exactly argue in times like these.) Seeing that post rankled with me, but I wasn’t exactly in troll mode yet. I talked to my buddy Michaela on Snapchat that day, and we didn’t even have to talk about the bubbling hostility brewing in me. We talked about life, and babies, and I felt instantly better and made it through the day.

Enter Monday night.

I dreampt that I encountered that person in Walmart, and they started trying to visit with me, and said we should hang out. To which I responded:

I’ve forgiven you enough to not kill you on sight, but we are never going to hang out again.

Charming, am I right?

Which led to said dream character asking what they’d done to me, and me reading them a riot act on what indeed, and resulted in them throwing a punch and me taking them down, tearing out their hair extensions, and being arrested by Walmart personnel.

…..

I woke up from that furious.

I know it was a dream, but it was so close to reality I couldn’t shake it.

Then I started going over our budget for January and preparing February’s and a few things from that were being a thorn in my side, as is usually the case with money. It just runs through your fingers like water, no matter how hard you try to grip it.

Then the dear husband came home at noon and casually mentioned a few things that have been ongoing with his work for a long time now, and that was the tipping point.

I turned into a troll.

I managed to keep my cool on it until he was out of the house, because he can’t handle his dearly beloved transforming into a hideous wart infested creature before his eyes.

At which point I hopped on the Marco Polo app. If you don’t know, it’s a video chat app that lets you record a video as long as you want and send it to someone. Like snapchat without the time limits, and no typing. It’s great because you can just get all your words out with no interruptions. I literally probably ranted into that screen for an hour, and sent it to my friend Victoria.

She responded pretty fast, and didn’t tell me I was being a troll. She told me she got it, and a few of the ways she could relate, and that sometimes she turns into a troll too (Ok, she didn’t use those words, but).  It was lovely, and the conversation was able to shift to Valentine’s Day and more pleasant topics.

After that I was feeling much better, but still a little cantankerous. There were still a few stubborn warts that hadn’t faded.

So I texted my doppleganger Lana. She’s the tall Minnesotan version of me, or I’m the short Nebraskan version of her, we haven’t quite decided, but we essentially think with the same mind.

When I text Lana a rant session, my phone literally converts it to a document to send to her.

She loves it, which is good, because I don’t think it will ever stop.

She called me a little later and after saying hello, asked if I’d wanted to kill anyone lately.

“Every day,” I said reverently. “But I’ve refrained all year.”

“I am so proud of you.”

And then the conversation took off, and we talked about everything under the sun, from meal planning, the similarities between how we treat her dog and my son, and being adults.

We came to the conclusion that it’s a strange thing how it seems like minute ago we were fourteen years old and hated everyone, listening to our screamo music, and wearing strange outfits, to now.

For the record, we still hate mostly everyone, but I have a husband and child, and she’s moved to a completely different state and has her own house.

Yet we still feel like fourteen year olds.

We’ve now scheduled weekly phone rant sessions, so we don’t drain our batteries down so bad, trying to recap everything that’s happened in the months since we’ve talked.

All of this pointless rant to say that my friends are the best. They let me vent to them and be insane, and get worked up about a dream, and they didn’t say I was being irrational. They waited until I was in a stable frame of mind before they told me to just trust God and pray about it. (Great advice, but ill received when I’m in troll mode)

My dear sweet son was up until one this morning, so it’s incredibly likely I’ll be making the rounds with these wonderful friends at some point today, because when I’m this tired, the troll king reigns supreme.

I know I should technically be the troll queen, but there are no dazzling images of that. Who wants to look at that?

 

And I mean, lets be honest, who doesn’t like a little Jareth now and then? Even if he is technically a goblin, not a troll.

 

The moral of the story? I don’t know. Facebook is bad.  Dreams aren’t real. If you’re gonna be a troll, at least get some friends who know to feed you crackers till you come down. You won’t regret it.