I’m just back from a wonderful tea break with my oldest friend. Like me, over the past two years she’s been going through depression, reorganising her priorities, weeding out what’s holding her back and creating room to focus on what she considers important.

It’s so good to have a friend with whom you can share everything… yes, everything. The one in whose company you can bring just about any topic up and know that she’ll take it seriously, no matter what. The one who laughs at the same kooky things you do. The one who knows where you’re coming from because she feels pretty much the same way.

We may drift out of each other’s lives every few years or so, but we always drift back. And that’s nineteen years of drifting away and back, baby. Nineteen.

Eep. On one hand, that’s grounds for a “we’re how old!?” check. On the other hand, it’s certainly a reason to celebrate.

We’re quite alike. So much so, in fact, that we joked about our significant others checking in with each other to compare notes, making sure that we were still on an even keel.

Friends are blessings. Some come, some go, but I’m lucky enough to have several friends who have come back into my life some time after our first interactions, and they’ve become the best support system a girl could ask for.

So, thanks, y’all.

Now I’m torn: I desperate want to open The Rebirth of Witchcraft, but I keep thinking I should review my class for tonight, even though I prepared it first thing this morning.

I think the book wins.

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