v u l v a l i c i o u s
It feels like the first time in a long time that I am alone. There is the sound of the wind and the computer, a bird outside the window and now the low rumble of the passing train.
I have been here for a year now. I think I should have more friends.
Perhaps I should be casting out nets. Calling acquaintances and meeting for coffee. Sitting on the grass on a muddy lawn watching some people I sort of know doing a show about stuff that I am kind of interested.
Sort of kind of maybe acquaintance.
I miss the certainty. I remember walking home from the train and calling someone just to talk or make a plan for the next day or week. I miss that.
But I did try today. I made a plan, called and texted, had it all worked out. And then everyone cancelled. So I am now the kind of person that people cancel on.
I am enjoying the quiet more than I ever used to. In Brooklyn the quiet is never really silent or still, it's this incessant rattle and boom that is turned down just so; I would constantly think I was missing something.
I am not missing anything. I will see a post on facebook in an hour or two and know what happened and probably be grateful for not having gone anywhere, for not having to feel out of place and alone in a big group of people.
I don't mind this. I don't. But I'm missing something, and it's hard. It's rising up, a little lump in my throat, a choking feeling like I am not going to be ok, I am going to mind it, soon and soon and sooner than I think.