Kazza Mazoo


Everyone has that one friend. That one friend who has been there. That friend who knows, KNOWS!, that life sometimes sucks. That has hope and hope and hope, right alongside you. She has been through so much, and lived through so much, that just looking at a letter from her, makes everything ok again. Cause help has arrived. Love has been posted. Understanding on a level that doesn’t need be anything but real, has come with all the love you needed inside its paper.

That person, for me, is Kazza. I have many friends, but only one Kazza. She is my person. We go long stretches without speaking to one another. I am told by my Astrology, that this is somewhat part of my independence thing. I flit from interest to interest, and a good friend has to understand this aspect of me. I love people. I LOVE  my people, but, I am a learner type. We learner types get distracted by the things we are learning, trying, experiencing. Think Indiana Jones’s father and you have an idea of my terrible level of distracted friendship.

My luck is, that the people I adore and keep closest, understand me. They know I will be back. That I will have carefully taken note of them, just…not commented or interfered. I generally only do, when they ask me to. I am most often twisted up in my underwear enjoying a good frustrated rant about why this or that could be done better in the world or, an excited puppy tail wag rushing into some new hobby that I must learn RIGHT NOW, or some new book series that I have devoted my entire Sunday, Monday & Tuesday devouring like potato chips.

I have people. People who know, that I am always 100% infatuated with learning. I love my people. I just have this odd (at times frustrating) need to try things, see things, think about and conquer things, and there is no me sitting quietly waiting for them to call. I am probably more like to be oblivious to the fact that said phone is actually ringing.

Anyway, I have people. They love me despite myself. I love them too. I do! I just forget that time is passing on me, while I am going about my overwhelming addiction to the WHY.

Kazza is my person. She writes me long letters that have no fake sentimentality. No polite triviality (Which, by the way, is the most annoying of all conversation) She is my person. She tells me what I missed. What she’s experiencing and feeling. What worries, angers, and frustrates her. What inspires, invigorates, and reawakens her. It has gotten so we don’t even say hello or have opening lines of pleasantries. Nope. Not needed. We start with stuff like “Well, I feel like crap.” “Seriously awesome news” or my personal favorite “I ate a whole carton of_______. ”

She isn’t perfect. She hasn’t got it all pressed and polished. She hasn’t got things figured out. Most of the time, she had just soldiered on and kept just a step away from disaster. She is also extremely hopeful, unfailingly honest, and the kindest heart, I have ever met.

She has an amazingly annoying ability of undervaluing herself. Her creativity is off the shelf! She’s an awesome mom. She has no end of intelligence (in fact, it’s practically coming out her ears) her stories (even the painful ones) have a flair of something wonderful threaded throughout them (I still wish I could post some of her more colorful work encounters, which she says I can’t post to protect the identity of the peoples involved) She is my person. She is my Kazza.

I have never met her. She lives in Australia. I have a strangely magnetic pull that draws me to Aussies. (I have a similar pull to British peeps as well) She and I have never had a meal together. Never seen the other across a table, or exchanged looks at an office party, and yet….she is my person. She knows my hurts, my rants, my twisted logic and pathetic self-esteem issues. She gets me. I get her. She’s my person.

I have a male version of Kazza, who is also my person..but Kazza is my girl person. The one that shares my female junk drawer of everything womanly annoying, frustrating, and hilariously hormonal.

She’s my person. I have a person.

Is there any blessing more humbling? I don’t think so.

Still, I will admit I am a tad annoyed that her freaking coloring page is 109% better than mine.

Look at this damn thing! I mean, Seriously woman! That is completely freaking cool. Which is why I hate you right now. 🙂

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