A little bit lonely this morning.
There was a party last night in "the Soup," ("The Soup": Evergreen's name for the alphabetized student housing on campus; sometimes, "the alphabet soup.") It wasn't a BAD party; after awhile, a bunch of people showed up, and there was dancing, conversation, loud music, and beer. But I didn't know a SOUL there after awhile ("after awhile," or, when my friend Louise ditched me for her boyfriend -- I don't blame her; just mentioning that after awhile I didn't know a soul at this party...)
I left around 1.30. I don't like parties all that much anyway. Especially when I don't know anybody. Think about it: I can't dance for shit, I don't really like to pretend-dance, I don't drink much, and once in awhile, I clam up and turn into a little bit of an introvert. That is, when everybody else is talking to everyone else, and nobody's eyes meet mine. So, while it wasn't a lame party, it wasn't my scene. I came home. My hall was silent. So I read a Stephen King book and played a tape of hysterical-yet-soothing music until I fell asleep.
Now it's a little past eleven the next morning, and I'm still a little lonely. No email. No plans for the day. Nobody I'm particularly looking forward to hanging out with. Nobody I'm particularly DISINTERESTED in hanging out with. Just a sea of blandness stretching in front of me.
Maybe I'll download some music just to watch the download times... Hell, I don't have a working soundcard or a CD-burner, so it's useless in my computer anyway...
Maybe I'm a little homesick.
Not really homesick, exactly. I have about as much interest in partaking of Binghamton's misery as I have in dipping myself in liquid rubber to see what would happen. It's not really homesickness; it's just the feeling that, a few weeks ago, I knew exactly where I stood with everyone. You know? Even if I wasn't happy about it, I at least KNEW. I knew the folks around me; I knew where their strengths and their weaknesses lay. I knew if people liked me or didn't like me. At Evergreen, I don't KNOW ANYBODY.
I wake up in bed wondering where I am. But that will go away eventually. It always does. I wake up not knowing who's beside me, if anybody. I don't know if that will go away. I've never felt that before. It's been a long, long time since I didn't know who mattered to me, and whom I mattered to. I didn't expect this kind of disorientation: as if something twisted and stretched out of proportion (imagine the paisley carpets in the movie of "Fear and Loathing...") when I came here. Norman and Aaron are a million miles away; Norman's likely in the process of forgetting me, and Aaron's got school, his girlfriend, drinking, and his website to attend to. The East Coast feels like melted cheese to me: stretched, melted cheese. Like when you take a slice of pizza and the cheese stretches further and further, and you don't know if it will snap or if you'll have to pluck it with your fingers, or if you'll just keep pulling and everything will slide off the top and you'll stand there clutching slimy bread.
Hm... sorry -- got a little caught up in thinking about nasty cafeteria pizza.
Then again, now I'm a little bit closer to the West coast folks... There's a certain anxiety I feel about that: like staring down a beer can I'm about to smash against my forehead. (Which, by the way, I regrettably cannot do, so don't ask... I'm still working on tying a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue...) I mean, from 3,000 miles away, it's easy to "love" people, or to be "friends" with people. But when it comes right down to it, I'm here now, and I STILL feel like there's 3,000 miles between me and them. Maybe more; you know how when you get closer to somebody, you sometimes just start hating each other, or feeling REALLY uncomfortable around each other? I feel like, even though I'm in Olympia, a town in which I don't know a soul other than the kids on my floor, like I've invaded somebody's space. Like I'm standing on people's feet. Like I'm expecting too much out of people who've been faithful internet-pals, but who'd really rather not have much to do with me personally. I feel like, by being here, I'm obligating people to hang out with me... Then again, nobody seems all that interested in hanging out. As a matter of fact, I did, indeed, feel like I had a lot of fairly close friends here -- until I came here, and folks stopped emailing, calling, or checking in to inform me they're alive. Or their words dropped from ten-page essays to ten-word hellos.
"Bicoastal," indeed.
It's NOT that I don't want to be here. I love it here. And I suppose I DO fit in here, I do belong here.
I just wish I had ONE thing, just ONE person, one PLACE, that was mine, that I knew by heart, that knew me by heart, that I felt comfortable with. I don't know any people here. And I'm a little scared of the woods; they're terrifying at night. I don't have much of anything that feels really secure, that feels well-loved or particularly loving.
I just wish somebody would have talked to me at that party last night.
~Helena*