I recently got bugged by a close friend to update my blog. While that doesn’t seem out of the ordinary, let me paint the full illogical picture: I chat with her online almost everyday, and we’re subscribed to each other’s Twitters by phone.

In other words, she gets more of an online presence from me than my blog will ever provide.

But it’s got me blogging. So I guess…you win, Jody.

I won’t apologise for the slack in updating, mainly because it wouldn’t make sense to the majority of you reading via RSS—the rest of you who’ve been checking the “Web 1.0″ way (I’m talking to you, Jody) have likely given up checking back manually, anyway.

It did give me something to think about, friendswise. That I have friends who seem to care that I update this space, even when you think it wouldn’t matter.

And it reminded me of some notes I took down when I read this entry in Jody’s blog, which I quote:

When did I stop having the energy to have too many friends to keep in contact with?
When did I stop having the energy to make real friends?

You know, the funny thing is, I don’t know when that all stopped happening for me, either.

More notably, I no longer have as many friends to categorise—I used to have friends I’d label by way of meeting, interests held, frequency of meet-ups, to name a few.

Which means friends would be lumped by arbitrary labels: “Internet”, “older”, “MGS”, “long time”, “band”, “party”.

But when did I stop having as many to throw into these neat little groups? When did I stop having the energy to upkeep all of this?

I know people say, as you get older, all the people who didn’t mean as much fall by the wayside, and the ones you’re left with are real.

But people change, too. And I’ve been disappointed by people who stayed through time, but who aren’t the people I thought they would be.

I’m certain I’ve disappointed my fair share, too. So how do you balance changing, changes and all of that with longevity?

Maybe that’s why your pool of ‘true’ friends dwindles as you get older.

Any friendship less worthy wouldn’t be able to survive the harsh conditions of needing to stay in touch while somehow having enough luck to align constantly-evolving personalities and minds.

So thank God for friends, however you make them, and wherever they are.

(See, Angel, I got through this entire entry without mentioning a Rubik’s cube once. Oh, wait.)

You know, I always wonder why airlines put such a premium on the seats on the side blocks.

When you check in, the counter girl always tells you regrettably that window seats are all taken up, or looks suitably surprised if you don’t want one.

Well, I don’t want one. I want one in the middle block, even if it’s squeezed in the centre between the aisle seats.

Because other people’s bladder habits stress me out.

I find that on long haul flights, failure to check-in online means I almost always get placed in the aisle seat of the side block.

And the window seat occupant is always either the owner of a Super Bladder^TM or on the verge of incontinence.

Which means I’m kept in constant anxiety as to when they’re going to go. I can never settle down with Dribbly McLeakerson, but I’m also suspended in mounting tension waiting for the Super Bladder^TM to finally go so I can fall asleep.

This trip, the girl next to me en route from Moscow to Houston amazingly asked for a drink every single time the stewardess came by. And she had red wine with her snack and beer with her meal and another cup of coffee at the end of it.

And she didn’t go for 10 hours. I kept jumping up everytime she as much as flinched.

She finally decided to go when the seatbelt sign was turned ON. Because all her bladder needed to heed the call of nature was a little jostling from turbulence.