My friends are much cooler than I.

I always told myself that the goal of my life would be to carry a mortgage. I never realized that I would have to move away. That my friends would be slowly forgotten. That my only real comfort would come from my immediate family.

I love my family, and wouldn't trade them for the world.

But...

I miss my friends.

I remember when I lived with George (the best man at my wedding), and Seth. I remember Jethro Tull floating over the air; I remember Seth maniacally eating a cold can of spaghettios as I tried to ignite a box of sparklers in my mouth all at once. We were on mushrooms, and we were the kings of the dirt. And of the spaces inside our new apartment. We spent hours deciding where the true middle of our (as yet to have moved in roommate, George's) room was. It seems that the middle is dependent on what is in the room. Every time we moved, the middle moved, perhaps imperceptibly in another direction.

I remember Seth telling his Mother that she was not allowed to come in. She had to deliver his laundered materials on the curb.

I remember noting that we were inside inside.

I remember watching the summer Olympics at my parents house, trying every day not to cry.

I remember our friend Jesus - he took a swig of a whole bottle of Cuervo after every successful battle against the AI in a N64 game called "Mortal Combat". He beat the game at the last pull. In his victory dance, he fell right over the coffee table, the gamepad flying.

I remember, years later, that my best friend asked me why I made such a big deal in Germany about him fucking some chick on my couch.