“Oh, I have many problems. And one of them will end when I hang up the phone.”

My oldest friend in the world told me that tonight. Right before he hung up the phone.

Just now.

The words are still ringing in my ears.

*ring* *ring*

Oh, it’s alright, people. I’m listening to Bruce Springsteen’s “You’re Missing” on a continual loop. I’ll be fine.

(If you have never heard “You’re Missing” before, know that it is quite possibly one of the most depressing (yet beautiful) songs ever written, particularly since it was written after the attacks on 9/11. I have been driven to streaming tears as I drive when it pops up on the iPod. Listening to this song should be more illegal than texting, as it makes me want to steer unconsolably into traffic.)

(Way Back Machine Editor: I am still pissed that Norah Jones won the Grammy over Bruce Springsteen. I am. I’m not Sicilian, but…I am still pissed. It was a fucking travesty, and I need to see a horse head in a bed. NOW.)

(Politically Correct Editor: That last comment about the horse head was wildly inappropriate, and it does not reflect the views of WordPress.com)

(Way Back Machine Editor: We HATE the Politically Correct Editor.)

My longest friend plays video games with me.

He doesn’t discuss intimate or personal details with me.

Until he does.

It takes a lot for my oldest friend to reveal information to me.

Tonight, he let something off his chest.

He revealed that, ten years ago, I went out to the movies with him and the girl I met on the internet, and it looked like I fingered my girlfriend.

He couldn’t remember what movie it was. I couldn’t remember fingering my girlfriend.

What I love is that he has just retained this information. Like, this moment has irrevocably altered him as a human being.

Listen, people.

I’m in a hopelessly diseased relationship, and now you get to see a wee part of it. So, if you’re maybe ever thinking “Wow, I wish I had her life,” just fucking talk yourself out of it.