A few days ago, I posted on Facebook about Donald Trump, terrible person, et cetera ad infinitum. In response, someone commented essentially telling me to shut up and go back to talking about clothing. And then she unfollowed me, thereby pretty effectively achieving her goal of not having to hear me anymore.

It bothered me. Not because she's not entitled to her opinion, but because it's this unwillingness to even listen for a moment to those who disagree with you, that - to me - lies at the root of the crossroads at which we find ourselves. We're talking and talking and talking without ever taking a moment to listen. We're lobbing arguments at each other, barely even reading or hearing the response before shouting back. We're unfollowing each other.

I am very much aware that not everybody who reads here is liberal, or anti-Trump. I try to be sensitive to that, while still expressing my beliefs. I thank those of you who disagree with my politics and continue reading here nonetheless. I want you to know that I'd like to hear from you more.

For years, I had this fantasy in my head: my mom would have a best friend with a daughter exactly my age, and we'd become best friends, too. We'd talk on the phone for hours, write each other letters over the summers, and one day maybe even go to the same college because we felt stronger when we were together. We'd consider each other sisters, because that's exactly what we would be.

I never did have a friend like that. In elementary and middle school, I cycled through a series of "best friends," with most relationships lasting a year, maybe two, before preteen dramas got in the way and alliances shifted. In high school, my best friends were a group of girls who I was never sure actually liked me very much; they'd tease me - the ditzy, silly sidekick - and I'd laugh, because I knew I was easy to make fun of and laughing along felt better. I had a constant sense of "tagging along," of hoping one of them would choose me to like the best.

I thought maybe that was just life, that perhaps who I naturally was (a person who often said the wrong thing, who turned red at the slightest provocation, who was utterly incapable of acting cool) just wasn't the kind of person who attracted long-lasting, deeply loving friendships. And so I decided to make my boyfriend - and then the next boyfriend, and the one after that - my best friend. I sought out relationships that weren't just "intense"; they were all-consuming. Finally, I had a person - and then another, and another after that - with whom I felt completely and totally comfortable. Except then we'd break up, and I'd have to start all over again.

Empty bed = the dream.

We've finally managed to get our children out of our bed at night (at least for the first few hours), but what that means is that we now have to "snuggle" until each of them falls asleep. And Kendrick is fun, so they don't fall asleep with him, which means that after he's done being the cool parent I have to be the "GO TO SLEEP" parent, and which also means that I spend about an hour and a half every night of my life snuggling trying desperately not to fall asleep in toddler beds (because toddler beds are extremely bad for grownup necks, and also because I am seriously behind on American's Next Top Model).

I don't always make it; there is many a night that I wake from a dead sleep and realize that I'm crunched up in 1/8th of a 3-foot-long bed with a baby foot planted firmly in my eye socket (which was sealed shut with makeup anyway because I hadn't been planning to actually pass out). And the reason why this happens with such frequency?

Yesterday afternoon I had all sorts of elaborate post ideas percolating and was just about to sit down and start writing, except then a massive crew of men and machinery arrived to destroy my driveway and replace it with a series of ten-foot-deep holes (but not before charging me $3,500.00 for the pleasure!). And my plans changed. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about re: the $3,500.00 disaster, oh please go to my Snapchat.)

And this morning I have a follow-up appointment at my dermatologist to determine whether or not the large and creepy rash on both of my feet means that they're about to fall off, or whether I might just be in the need of some extra-strength cocoa butter.

If how the last appointment went is any indication, I'm in for an exciting morning.