2 am and Dutch Apple Pie

Last night I couldn't sleep.  This isn't anything new, especially for someone whose mind likes to keep thinking even when it's time to turn out the lights.  One of my good friends from the company I worked for before "Chips 'R Us"-a breast cancer survivor-is back in town.  She decided to communicate via her niece on Facebook that she wanted to meet at one of the watering holes we used to frequent.  Well, I got the message too late of course, but said that I would love to meet for lunch or "something" before she leaves.  It was 2 am.  Unfortunately in the backwoods the bars close by 1. 

Part of being a sexual assault survivor means that you have a tendency to develop an unhealthy relationship with food at times.  Earlier in the day I had baked a dutch apple pie for the upcoming week's possible dessert consumption and had left it to cool on the stove top.  I knew better to touch it, especially in the middle of the night, but I was bored and feeling empty so I ate a piece.  Or was it two?  It was good, but it wasn't the type of satisfaction I was really looking for.

This friend of mine, she's a fighter.  Courageous.  Funny.  Obnoxious at times.  We used to call ourselves "The Outlaws," along with another lady we became friends with.  "B," "S," and I were there for each other-through the difficulties we faced at our jobs, the difficulties we faced once we punched out each day, and through the life changes we would soon face.  We had fun making each other laugh, staying up late at each others' houses knocking back a few drinks, watching obscure movies, and gossiping about the people in our lives.  We even came up with names for all the bosses at our job-"Sponge Bob," "Toby Keith," "Stuart Little," and my personal fave, "Peppermint Patty."  We were a triad of smart, sassy, playful trouble and we didn't care.  The one thing we did care about was each other-something that hasn't really evaporated between the numerous moves and separations.

It's been almost three weeks and the doctor's office hasn't called yet.  Either the results of my lab tests came back inconclusive/negative or they're retesting my vials just to make sure.  I'm feeling a lot better.  No more exhaustive fatigue, only a slight chest pain every now and then when I get upset, and the hair is starting to stay put.  As "N" said a week ago when I told her, "oh, that's just stress.  It's good to go (to the doctor), but you've been doing too much with work and school.  C'mon you're active."  I hope she's right.  I think she is.  I'm leaving a message with the office to make sure, but I've learned to have faith in the judgment of strong intuition over logical reason.

Still I can't help but wonder.  Especially at 2 am with my slices of temporary comfort.  2010 has been a mysterious year.  A year mostly marked by a lot of reunions and a return of things I once cherished.  Some of those returns have revealed new mysteries, confirmed old truths, reflected what I've forgotten, and served as arrows towards a synchronized direction. 

"B" and "S" have returned for some reason.  Signs of change, "spiritual aid," and "endings" have been popping up all over lately.  I miss the carefree aspect of our former closeness, but I know these ladies are strong.  They know how to maneuver themselves through adversity and come out more than "ok."  Change may be inevitable, but you don't have to let it destroy your potential to become something more than what you were.

Support can always be felt, even if it's just a set of vibes that somehow wakes you up in the middle of the night, craving a few slices of dutch apple pie.