It’s Saturday. Do you know where you are?
I’m in limbo. Sorta tired. Just rode my bike for an underwhelming ride, gonna make me some curry, then I’m heading out for an odd evening. The city’s Vespa club is doing a “ride-in theatre” tonight at some dude’s house. They’re showing Anthony Hopkins’ film from last year, the World’s Fastest Indian.
Didja know I started a scooter club here in the city? 300+ members? Yep. It’s funny, I whine about not having enough of a life, and here I am with more than 300 people at my disposal. So, yes, I’m going to do something about not having enough of a life. People are shocked to meet me at last. Yes, I’m the elusive Steff. You’ve read me, now meet me! Woot! Ha. Funny. But, beer, hot dogs, a summer night, a backyard, and new people. Hey, sounds like a plan.
What can I say? I’m good with people! I’ll be on my best tonight, me hopes.
I realized just now, on my bike ride, how lonely I’ve been feeling of late, to be honest. It’s sort of embarrassing to admit loneliness, isn’t it? We live in a society where loneliness is supposed to be a sign of weakness, yet I suspect we all know what it’s like. It dawned on me yesterday how nice it was to work in an office full of people I could talk to for the first time in months and months. Unemployment was lonely. Reducing the frequency of seeing friends and lovers and all, that too has been lonely. Add it all together, and I think I realize now how unlike ME it has been. Wow.
It’s amazing how quickly it sneaks up on you, cognization. The “holy shit, that explains it!” epiphanies that hit us all.
Sometimes, it’s hard to be social, even if you’re built to schmooze, like I suspect I am. Back in the day, I was NEVER, EVER home. I’d leave for school every morning at 7, and get home every night at 1, and somehow found a way to work a job in between all my friendships and popularity and all that shit. For a dozen or more reasons, all those people have fallen away — through happenstance, through maturing, through distance, through time. And I guess I got used to it.
I think a lot of us do. We start thinking how hard it is to meet new people. Well, the internet makes it easier than ever. I’m on an activities mailing list for the city, yet I never do a thing through it. I’ve remedied that and have plans on the horizon. I think I’m about to go from never seeing anyone, and feeling like some kind of social charity case, to being back in demand.
And that fucking ROCKS. I’m tired of having fun “sometimes.” I’m a very fun person. Where’d that go? How the fuck did it go? This weekend’s good so far. Looks to be getting better. And tomorrow morning’s World Cup Soccer/Football* on a theatre screen. Woot.
So, here’s my point: Lonely? Fucking do something about it. Yeah, it’s scary. Yeah, it’s a hit on the pride to accept that you NEED to meet new people. But when it clicks, man, you’re gonna love having grown those balls to get out there, y’know.
*I consider it “football,” regardless of the fucking North American sport of the same name, and despite my living in N.A. I mean… they CARRY the fucking ball. It touches a foot maybe 15 times a game! Hundreds of plays, and about 15 foot contacts, yet they call it FOOTball? Hello!? How about… Carryball? Or, pigball? Or, oafball? Maybe thugball? Tackleball? Fumbleball? Passball? Any of these is more accurate. I wish someone somewhere had been just a tad fuckin’ semantic-minded when the unoriginal fuckwads sitting around a boardroom decided on calling it “foot”ball. Jesus Christ. Know what? It constantly touches feet in real football. Now there’s accuracy. The gods of semantics are appeased; you may keep your sport. And for the record, I don’t care who wins. :)