Last night I had a dream about a good friend. I woke up thick with her, and for a good 20 minutes I lay there unable to think of anyone or anything else. And that’s when it hit me.

I forgot her birthday.

I didn’t just miss it, I blew past it without so much as a second glance, back in November. A mere four days after I wrote a sappy ode to another friend! Seriously, could anything be worse?

I didn’t technically forget it, actually. I thought of it dozens of times over the last two months. So, thinking I might be losing my mind, hoping in fact I’d forgotten that I hadn’t forgotten, I frantically searched my email for the missing greeting. (Though we only live 45 minutes apart, email has become our lifeline. I hate the telephone, and she accepts this about me. Every once in a while I get it together enough to send a card, but I know I didn’t this year.)

There was no email sent on the 22nd. Ironically, on the 21st, I asked her if she had any big plans for her birthday. But nothing on the day itself, and nothing – NOTHING AT ALL – in the 17 days since.

What the hell? It’s like a cog slipped. I don’t understand it at all. All I can think is I’ve been completely self-absorbed in my own muck, sunk heavy beneath my own weighty days of late.

I know she won’t be mad. I know she won’t hold a grudge. She’s not that kind of person. She may even laugh.

But I bet she’s thought about it, and I bet she felt a little hurt over it. And that’s something I’ll never, ever be able to erase.

I know she reads this blog. I’m taking this opportunity to apologize, both publicly and and privately, in a way, as if I were speaking these words directly to her. I want her to understand their importance.

How many years have I loved you now? Enough for you to know me so well, enough for you to believe what I have said here and smile about it. Remember I even sent you a card last year? (Or was it the year before?) Perhaps that near-miracle threw the Universe off kilter, causing a direct and opposite reaction. Perhaps I’m just a schmuck. It’s funny, because I’ve thought of you more lately than I have in so many years, and I know you know why. Maybe my brain, more often on auto-pilot these days than not, thought it had taken care of your birthday wishes and relaxed. I don’t know what happened. It doesn’t matter anyway. There is no excuse for not telling you how much I love you every single day, let alone on the most important day of all.

I’m sorry, R.

I sure am sorry. You are SO getting an over-the-top Christmas present this year.

And a phone call in a few minutes….