Love is a verb. The importance of friends.

2 Jan

WARNING!

Dear Gentle readers,

Sadly JB is unwell and her computer is fucked. So in her place, Princess Pixie Pointless will be posting for you today. I was going to give my diatribe on “Rape, The Naked Truth”, but really don’t fucking feel like it. So be warned. This post is not your average JB post, it’s soft and fluffy and butterflies and reindeers and whatever the fuck.  You’ve been warned. Read on, if you care to. I might swear alot to, but this writing shit really isn’t my bag.

JB will be back to business as normal shortly.

Love is a verb. motherfuckers.

As you may have all come to learn, JB and I, PPP (PrincessPixiePointless) are not the same person. I am not her alter-ego. I am not the rational cupcake side of her brain. We are not only separate people but we are friends. Good fucking friends. Great even. We have a twenty year history under our belts.

I first met JB shortly after my trial had ended for being an accessory to murder. Not one of my personal highlights, however it did get me to re-evalute what the fuck i was doing with my life and go back to school .

How i ended up being involved in a murder charge is another story for another time.

I wasn’t one of those pretty normal girls to make friends easy. I’d had a bit of a bumpy start and was pretty protective of myself to the outside world.

So I got off my ass and got a scholarship to go into Mechanical Engineering at a fancy pants university.  That is where JB and I met.

From the get go, we got on. We are polar opposites with dealing with the world. She as you may have noted is more of a scream in your face until the job gets done kind of woman, and I more a  softly, softly carry a large stick…(this is before either of us started baking bread by the way..)

We didn’t always agree about politics or religion, but in each other we saw kindred spirits who valued art, beauty and the truth.  People that had come from harsh backgrounds, with hard exteriors that could recognise the beauty,truth, vulnerability and passion in the other.

and to top it all off, we had a tonne of fun together.

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We had each other’s backs. Which is important in this world. You want friends that will fight for you, stand your corner, even if sometimes you don’t agree with the fight you  are fighting for.

In this world, it’s said, we are lucky to have one or two close friends. I’m not talking facebook, myspace, msn or digital. I am talking about living and breathing people that have seen you at your best and at your worst and still love  you just the same.  When friendships start we don’t always know who those people will be.  Sometimes only time will tell.

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Back in the 1990’s, when we’d finished school and gone our separate ways, JB to fold Mr.JB’s laundry and me to another country, we ended up back together.  I was again, going to go back to school, having left my Mr.BadChoiceNumber2, (discovered him in a hot tub making out with his male best friend, didn’t go down well).   We lived in a small flat, near a hospital.  On a typical Sunday, reading the papers and having a coffee, we heard noise outside that sounded like a mass stampede of hatred. We lived across the street from a hospital.  On further investigation, it was a massive anti-abortion campaign. This back in the days, were clinics and the doctors working at such clinics were getting bombed and murdered, all in the name of God.

JB and I had slightly different opinions on that topic.  However.

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The thought of thousands of people, screaming such hatred with no other voice in the masses, led us both to a decision. Let’s go out and be the other voice. So with some red spray paint and a sheet, with constructed our amateur banner and out we walked. Into an abyss of Christian fundamentalist hatred.

It was scary. We had large men, try to intimidate us. Women calling us all names in the world. Just because together we held a banner in a midst of other opinions.

Time passes.

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JB and I live in different countries, continually for years, so we do it the old fashioned way and we take the time to write letters to each other. Not emails, not texts, but good old fashioned paper you put in the post box.  Which is all about taking the time to sit down and relate to another human being, and holding their words, their lives, their thoughts in your hands.

But it comes  a time in all of our lives when we need to be with another.

That time for us came last summer.  Me and LittleBear spent the most fantastic 10 days with JB, Mr.JB, BossyPants,PinkyPinkyPie, Little dude,  Judgy Asshole and Freeloader2.

In 2007 after a life time of not wanting to be married or having children, i found myself with both a husband and a child on the way.  JB was the most wonderful support.

In 2008, I was one of those women that had secured a job that i loved and i was going to go back to work (with my child) after my 12 weeks of maternity leave had finished.

Well, my son was born with severe physical special needs. So that plan pretty much got fucked in the water.

After 4 years of living life thru hospital appointments and reconstructive surgery, we had the ok from surgeons to leave the country and visit JB. We came back and it all went pear shaped.

So. I took my son into hospital at the end of September, because i knew something was wrong and i was tired of getting fobbed off. After hours of tests going badly, we ended up in children’s A&E, and then booked into the ward.  A hospital ward we had seen plenty of thru the years, but normally as pre-booked patients.

This was bad.

5 days in, surgery, 15 days in more surgery, my LittleBear in constant pain and no viable answers. Mr.PPP and I started to do 72 hour shifts, as he had to go back to work. I would go in for 3 solid days, he would come in for 20  hours so i could go home and cry, and talk to JB.

Before I had a child with special needs, i had loads of friends, it’s hard for people to realise what you go thru, so they often back away. Because, yes, you moaning about your boyfriend being an asshole, doesn’t quite get my sympathy when i am in hospital with a dying child.

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Although in fairness I would never try to see it that way. We all have our shit. Who is to say, your divorce, getting fired, bad day is any worse than mine.

I wrote to JB any chance i could. It was the way I could escape or make light of what i was going thru. She was my cheerleader, every fucking day.

Until about day 30, when it had all gone to shit. I am not one to lose it, or cry, or not see the positive in everything.  But on Skype to JB and her LittleMissBossyPants, I could keep it in no more.  Mr.JB joined the conversation, he sweetly asked me how I was, and with my normal charm, I responded that I was doing fair enough considering I was watching my child die.

and do you know what he did?

He marched JB downstairs, held her and told her how much I needed her right now and promptly bought her and MissBossyPants tickets to this side of the pond to come and support me in hospital.

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and then LittleBear made a turn for the better. Suddenly his body reacted positively to meds, his body started to heal where they thought it would not. We came out of hospital 24 hours before JB and LittleMissBossyPants arrived.

They couldn’t have arrived a moment too soon.

Both LittleBear and I had lost our legs. He was small and weak, and me with all my strength and thunder was a broken Mummy once we got home.

Little Miss Bossy Pants reminded LittleBear that he had legs, and could fight and could play. JB helped me get my sense of sanity back. She not only had my back, she carried me when i could no longer walk thru life.

Yes, JB and I have different opinions. But when it comes to truth and passion and knowing what it means to be friends, real friends. We will fight each other’s corner until the end of time.  That is what friends are for.

I used to have loads of friends that agreed with me.  Now I have real friends.

So here’s to you JB.  Thank you for everything. I love you and can’t wait to see you again.

For everyone else still maybe reading this.  Thanks for hearing me out. Thank you for supporting JB.

and go spend time with your friends. You’re real friends, go call them, or write them, let them know you care. Because love is a fucking verb. and friends are important.

all the best

PPP,

I will probably delete this in an hour because is a bit insanely personally and way too emotive for even my standards.

I love you JB.

love you readers. x x x

4 Responses to “Love is a verb. The importance of friends.”

  1. Liz January 2, 2013 at 21:16 #

    Love IS a fucking verb!
    Your message was so inspiring to me, and I am very touched by your awful ordeal and so grateful that your little one is getting better. ((hugs all around))

    Anyway, JB….hope you get well soon. And there’s nothing wrong with butterflies, rainbows and girl stuff! Butterfly rainbow hater! I always thought the military alphabet code should be a bit more feminine. Like….Papa-Sierra-Charlie-Romeo should be Princess-Sparkle-Cloud-Rainbow.
    He, he, he.

    Like

  2. Erudite Knight January 2, 2013 at 22:55 #

    Thus why I hate facebook. I do not need some screen saying 500 friends, none of which would do shit for me.

    Once my Dad told me you can count the number of friends you have on one hand, I thought it was low. Now, I think if you ever got to 5, you’d be damn lucky.

    Like

  3. princesspixiepointless January 3, 2013 at 07:45 #

    A girlie & fluttery army code, could you imagine? It’s a horrifying idea. It would definitely give the enemy a giggle.

    Like

  4. Liz January 3, 2013 at 17:37 #

    Horrifying is what I bring. It’s Fairtale Unicorn Nightingale.

    You’re welcome.

    Like

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