It’s 1:30 a.m. but given my obsessive, hyper-alert state it might as well be lunch hour. There’s a loop reel in my head that keeps replaying a work-related event from earlier in the day.
I have a small pool of good, old friends, two of whom are night owls, so pick up the phone and call one. He picks up immediately.
It’s 3:45 a.m. when we hang up.
Back when my daughter was locked in the hospital Emergency Room revolving door, I learned an important lesson: you learn who your real friends are by the people who appear in Intensive Care when you’re sitting there alone. It’s not many.
I have a phone book full of acquaintances, church buddies, media contacts and former colleagues, neighbors and classmates. But the ones I am most thankful for are those rare gems that been there in goods times and bad, know the nitty-gritty details of my life, and still accept me, idiosyncrasies and all.