Don't click out because you think this post is about Josh Groban. It's not. Really. *rolls eyes.* (But This post is. And so is this one. )
I'm leaving this morning for my annual girls weekend. Four girls and I sit around for four days and talk all things crazy, play silly board games, catch up on a year of kids, romances (three of the five of us are single), and yes, Josh Groban. Although, to be fair, he is the last thing we discuss.
Except this year.
This year we go to The Concert.
*squeals like a 13 year old* *shut up, I know I'm 38* *nobody asked you*
You must understand, that these girls, these women, are awesome. Awesome with a side of awesome sauce. Before we met -- in person (because, yes, I met them on line.) I was hospitalized for depression for the first time. I told them. And they didn't run. In fact one of them, Karen, met me just a few months later. Alone. The other three kind of shrugged their shoulders and said, "Yeah, stuff happens. Are you alright? What can we do from out here in the interwebs?"
And then they spent long evenings and late nights chatting with me on AOL Messenger -- and no, not all about Josh. I got a care package. Phone calls. So many, many laughs.
Support, that's what I received. So much of it.
And when I went into hospital the second time, they continued to support me. I met them in person, a few short weeks after. They hugged me and showered me with love. We giggled and talked and giggled some more. They treated me as though I was normal. (ha!)
So, this morning I pack up and drive to Pennsylvania to join Karen, Linda, Mal and Keren. We'll stay up late talking about all things silly and serious. We'll play Dirty Pictionary. We'll exchange funny gifts with each other. On Friday we will get dressed up big time, get lookin' all hot, take tons of pictures and go to the concert together. And I? Will totally cry. Not because I'm seeing Josh Groban. But because I'm with these girls.
Thank you. I love you all.