Sisterly Dependence

{photo credit: Chloe}

I have eight sisters.  I like them all.  I'll leave you to ponder the unlikelihood of both those statements while I ponder the fix I'm in.  See, I have become accustomed to having a sister on hand for every need and whim!  Any more-than-one-person gig... trip to the mall, catch a movie, post-work decompression...  Check. 

Seriously, name a need: new music, coffee, advice, dance partner, driver, food, fashion consult (or loan), sounding board, new tv show, spiritual insight, dating tips, sofa cuddle, a good brick joke…  Sisters have become my one-stop shopping.

There's a whole list of things I just don't own, or have never done for myself.  When I say, "I have eclectic taste in music", it's not a legit bragging point.  I have sisters with eclectic taste in music.  Thanks to them, I listen to everything from One Republic and Journey to Abney Park and Finnish symphonic metal.  My one contribution?  Alexi Murdock.  Seriously.  And only because I watched Away We Go and the first three episodes of Stargate Universe, and no one else did.

I never brewed my own coffee with any regularity.  I don't own several of my favorite books.  I have this pressing need to verbally relay everything I've done in a day and get feedback, as if not telling someone means it didn't happen.

I shouldn't gripe too loud ― I have Chloe again!  This has been indescribably awesome.  I have two old and dear friends in the area as well, and I can already see them raising their hands with suggestions.  I'm making new friends.  But I can't saddle Chloe with everything on this list; my dependence has only worked so far because, with so many shoulders, the burden had room to spread out.  Lay it all on one sister?  Yeah, no good.  And life is a busy, giddy thing for us all, including oldest and bestest friends.  It's only now I realize how much difference the 'living in the same house' part made.  And new friends are still new.  I don't know where I fit, or who might be up for a movie or a hunt for the perfect skinny jeans.

So how do I fix this?  Does this ever get fixed?

I need a solution or a coping mechanism or a sobering slap in the face, and fast. 

Because I want someone to go to the Glen Echo contra dance with me. 

And I don't know where the good music hangs out. 

And this coffee tastes terrible.

 

I miss my girls.