I am feeling lonely. I realize that this might be amplified by a variety of factors. Today, for example, I was moved to tears listening to reggae. Seems sufficient evidence I might be particularly emotional, just now.
There are lots of perfectly valid reasons this could be so:
- Oscar has been less-than-totally quiescent. The grumbling and churning has woken me several times in the last few days.
- I have another, newly discovered and utterly revolting health problem rearing its head.
- In part because of items 1 & 2 I am not getting even my customary level of not enough sleep.
- I am in the final stages of tapering off the steroids I have been taking for over three months and the hormonal shift is taking a toll in the form of constant headaches, joint pain, fatigue, and general malaise.
- Louise (my remaining ovary) is doing her monthly song and dance.
- I have been spending a greater than usual amount of time alone.
And, if I am completely honest, I cannot discount the fundamental, embarrassing, and irresistible truth that it’s been just long enough since I got laid that all of this is much more pressing thereby. So far, I’ve managed to avoid taking any hasty measures to remedy this*, but I know that feeling lonesome is amplified because of it and that my resolve to make careful choices with long-term potential in mind seems less important by the day. Usually, I try to distract myself with affection from other sources. While less potent, it certainly helps take the edge off.
Add to that the inherent summertime challenge. People are busy; there are so many options it can be difficult to get on the schedule. Since I am also contending with Oscar and Louise, it can be hard to plan time with people who might offer a different kind of company than my body can afford. It’s also the case that in an effort not to languish in my illness or recurrent bouts of self-pity and take advantage of what has been very favorable weather for a variety of adventures, I have tried to keep busy with things I enjoy. By and large, the hiking, running, camping and general larking about has been very good for me. However, the fact is I have been doing all of this by myself.
Cast in the best possible light, the idea is that I shouldn’t feel the need to wait around for someone else to come along and validate my plans. And while I can and do often have a perfectly lovely time on my own, I think I’ve fallen into the habit of assuming I must do everything alone. I can hardly recall the last time it occurred to me to ask someone else if they’d like to join me on an impromptu beach trip, hike, run or any other activity I employ to keep myself entertained.
In a less favorable light, I acknowledge my tendency to isolate myself when I am in pain; physical or emotional. I have tried to make a concerted effort to reach out and ask for help and support, and whenever I do, I receive it from multiple quarters and with gratifying speed and enthusiasm. The trap, of course, is that the more I need to reach out, the less inclined I am to do so. The more overwhelmed I feel the more I want to run away toward the horizon with the sappiest music I can find** and sing at the top of my voice while sobbing, or crawl into bed at 2:45 p.m. and not get back out until I next have to present myself at my job.
This doesn’t have a ready solution, in the sense that the protocol to remedy things is less than totally straightforward. I think too, that occasionally doing any of this is fine. It becomes troubling only after I notice myself tilting into a pattern where the only person I see outside the office for days on end is my equally hermit-like housemate as we pass each other in the kitchen executing a run for snacks to take back to our respective ends of the house.
So. What remedies? Other people, rest, hugs and kisses. Guess it’s time to get my prescription filled***.
* Really, shirtless selfies aren’t that bad, right?
**Customarily not reggae.
***That’s what she said.