Alright, maybe that's a little dramatic. It is an occupational hazard, after all.
So let me back up. Sometime last week, the date was announced for my twenty year reunion. Ever since then, my former classmates have been replying with "Can't wait!" and "So excited!"
My knee jerk response is somewhere along the lines of, "Cautiously Anxious!" and "Fearfully Apprehensive!" with the occasional, "Oh, HELL, no!" My ten year reunion was patentedly NOT fun. Though my being eight weeks pregnant and wanting to throw up every two seconds might have put a damper on the festivities, somewhat. But twenty? How could it be more fun? (Except for the being pregnant part. That won't be an issue. Any nausea I feel will be from crappy early nineties pseudo-music.)
Come on, folks. I cannot be the only one who feels this way.
For one thing, chances are that if I'm not already in touch with you somehow, it's by choice. I mean, what will I have to talk to these people about past, "Hey, you were an asshole in high school. You still working that?"
For that matter, I had some rather unfortunate qualities in high school. I like to think that I've outgrown most of them, but I know that at least a few people hated my guts and livers. I'm not sure why exactly, that is to say, I can't pinpoint any one thing I did to any one person, but the hatred of my person came out in the form of vandalism to my poor car. Granted, my car was a 1986 Chevy Cavalier POS - not the end all be all of automobiles, but he (his name was Bud) certainly didn't deserve to be egged repeatedly, have beer bottles (or wine bottles?) thrown at him, or my favorite and the Pièce de résistance, having a gallon of yellow latex paint poured over his roof.
To this day, I don't know who did that. And I've forgiven them. Mostly. But I don't really want to be around that person, either.
Yet, they're probably not an asshole, anymore.
You know, who am I kidding? They probably totally are.
All that said, there are a handful (or more, if I'm being optimistic) of people that I actually liked in high school, and that most likely get along with now that we're adults. I've reconnected with a few of them on facebook. I've also reconnected with people that I absolutely DO NOT remember. I'm not kidding. Their names, their pictures... NOTHING rings a bell. If I actually cared enough, I'd go dig out my annuals and look them up, but I'm satisfied with the non-existent relationship we have. If I knew who they were, I might not like them anymore, and their pithy facebook posts amuse me. So they stay.
My husband, because he treats life like a party, had a GREAT time at his 20 year reunion. He's that guy. I wish I were that girl. Unfortunately, I'm the girl that enjoys standing on the fringe of the party and making snarky or quasi-inappropriate comments. Now that I stand back and consider it, I can definitely think of some folks who would feel comfortable joining me on the edge. Line forms behind me. No shoving.
Or maybe... maybe I'll have a great time. Maybe the yellow paint asshole won't show up. Maybe I'll stand on the fringe and do my thing. Either way, I'm going. It's a compulsion. I have to. I have to see. I have to see what twenty years has done to Nimitz High School's class of 1991.
Self-torture and mental anguish has always been kind of my thing, anyway.