Dear Diary, what a sad soppy hot mess

My dear little friend Tiffany was rubbing it in the other night that there's a 9 year age gap between us. I managed to express my indifference to the "you were born waaay before Facebook technology" routine by turning my surprisingly firm and supple bustier away from her to discuss the new relationship with her older--by a year, excuse moi--sister. Amy's happy that coupling seems to suit me. Yes. Me too.

All the same, I feel as if I'm neglecting the folks who knew me before I began using baby talk at the grown-ups' table. (Will spare you the details since my list of nicknames for Dee is ongoing, with banana slug becoming a quick favorite.) While I've enjoyed getting togehter for happy hour, dinner, etc. with Dee's sibs and friends during the Christmas break...I'm beginning to miss my old school chums. And I feel especially bad about not calling my half-brother enough.

I recognize that a certain level of angst is Survivor's Guilt rearing its ugly, nagging head. But I also fervently wish it was February already.