I always used to say, "It's a fine line between being alone and being lonely." I think I've crossed that line. I know I made this decision to live in the desert all summer, but the solitude is maddening! I'm now having full conversations with my dog; I've started to sing him songs.
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The thing is I like to be alone; I just don't like to be lonely. I'm getting to the point where I go to the supermarket just to see people. Man, I'm getting to be pathetic, and I imagine that, to others, I'm becoming a little bit creepy. Yes, I am staring at your ass — and your daughter's ass.
I'm so lonely that on a whim (and with some cajoling from a friend) I took the eHarmony compatibility test. It was like 40 minutes long and filled with page after page of stupid personality evaluations; it felt as if I was being screened for the FBI. After paying dues, I was eager with anticipation to see some of the hookers I'd get matched with.
Finally, I hit return and the searching icon popped up, and I waited . . . I waited . . . then it finally blinked: Zero matches. Zero! Nada! Getting zero matches on eHarmony is almost as sad as watching another episode of Lost.
Lost is like my dating life — you're entertained for an hour but usually left disappointed and upset and confused by the end of the night. I'm never going to watch that effing stupid show ever again; at least, I say that after every episode. (Caveat: Seasons one and two were like dating a girl who loves to give blowjobs all the time for no reason at all.) I want to stop watching Lost, yet I know that if I don't watch it, I might miss the episode where something actually happens. I continue to date for the same reason.
Lately, I've been holding onto the memory of the last time I wasn't lonely at all. The last time I was really content. It was a few months back when I was sitting in a robe on my lover's couch in Santa Fe. (I might have mentioned her before, once or a dozen times.) We had just finished a breakfast of scrambled eggs and Boursin cheese (pronounced bore-san). Boursin is a French soft cheese made with garlic and fine herbs and it's awesome. You can find it at almost any grocery store.
Most people I know just put Boursin out with an appetizer tray to spread on crackers, but my lovely from SF taught me something different. I had just stepped out of the shower when I heard her yell from the kitchen, "Tea? Eggs?" Yes to both! There is nothing sexier than a beautiful woman in a robe making breakfast, especially after you've both worked up an appetite.
I knew my lover was sophisticated, well-read, and a woman of great taste, and I soon found she was clever. Instead of just whipping up scrambled eggs and toast, she turned the bland into magic. All she did is stir some Boursin into the scrambled eggs and it was like we were transported to France. We dined on preserves with toast and rich 'n' creamy Boursin eggs. To top it off, we had English tea with milk, served the color of pearl, please!
So when I'm at the grocery staring down Mom near the butcher's counter, I take a deep breath and go for the cheese. Instead of getting arrested, I buy the Boursin and think of the good times.
