Angela Rigby

Congratulations to me. Today is my anniversary. I have lived in Chicago for exactly one year.

And to commemorate this occasion, I'm sitting in my apartment, alone, writing a blog entry.

There’s a song by Pink called “Leave Me Alone (I’m Lonely)” that seems to align with my life. The lyrics describe a contradictive state that I usually find myself in. I want to be away from people, but the moment that I am I can’t help but want them back. For Pink, the problem seems to be rooted in romantic relationships. For me, it’s human interaction in general.

Solitude is sort of built into my life now that I live on my own. I do love living alone. My stuff is all over the place, and no one is here to care. I don’t have to deal with someone else’s temperature preferences (which would likely be too cold for my liking). And I know I’ve mentioned my fondness for going without pants (I suppose I could do that with a roommate, but it’s so much easier without one).

The problem now is that I’m constantly wishing I had other people around me, to erase this sense of emptiness and isolation. And then, instead of doing something about it, I find a way to turn my computer into a friend... Exploring the internet. Listening to music. Writing this blog entry (that’s actually probably why I like writing in blog-form so much. It makes me feel more social than anything else I can do alone).

I find ways to feel like I’m among the living. I visit people sometimes, although that’s usually only for a short time and only happens about twice a week. I spend time on the phone every evening. A couple of nights ago, I didn’t really want to call any of my friends, so I just called my parents and talked to them for an hour. They call me every couple of days (and if I don’t answer, they assume that something horrible has happened to me), and I didn’t really even have anything interesting to talk with them about. I just needed to talk to someone other than myself. I occasionally take classes, but I’m not in one at the moment. Other than that, I guess there’s just my job (thank God for work, actually. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have that built-in people-time eight hours a day, five days a week).

Usually, these silly habits of mine tide me over until the next workday. It helps me to feel less suffocated by the walls of my shoebox-apartment (as I’m writing this, I can hear the man next door doing his exercises to his Latin music. He has crazy loud breathing noises… Maybe he’s doing some form of martial art? I don’t know). Nonetheless, I feel like something is missing. I want there to be someone here with me when I wake up in the morning. I want there to be someone here when I go to bed at night. And I want someone to be here in the evenings after work so that I’m not left here alone, talking aloud to myself about my day and my plans for the rest of the week. It’s depressing.

Maybe this is why so many people my age seem to be ready for marriage. The cohabitation aspect of it does seem appealing, and I can understand why you would want it if you were ready for it. I, obviously, am not. I want someone to eat breakfast with, but I don’t want that person’s stuff to be all over my space. And I want them to not be here about five minutes after breakfast is over. I’d like to just be able to summon them, quite like a master would a genie. Why can’t that arrangement be possible?

People have been backing out on me a great deal lately, leaving me marooned in my apartment. I had a rough night earlier this week when three different people I had plans with ditched me (the plans were all tentative, but it was still upsetting). I hate that. I hate looking forward things only to be disappointed. It made me want to crawl into bed at 8:00pm on a Saturday night in the city. Stranded, abandoned, forgotten... Life is too short to feel that way.

I hate not knowing what to expect. That’s probably a good part of why I hate being surprised. I like planning. I like dependability. I don’t like things being sprung on me.

There are other reasons I dislike surprises. The first of which is that I feel as though I’ve been lied to (because if a surprise has a great deal of planning behind it, then I have). The second is that I feel powerless, and as though I have no control over the situation at hand. It’s not a good feeling.

Actually, that’s probably why I don’t drink often. I don’t like feeling out of control. What’s the appeal in that? Alcohol is far less tasty than a cherry coke, and soda pop doesn’t make me feel like something’s amiss.

A certain friend of mine would chalk the alcohol, surprises, and dependability things up to me having trust issues. I would argue against that. If anything, I think I trust people more than I should sometimes (it’s part of why I’m gullible). But it is, in part, true. I have borders, boundaries, walls, and defenses. And yet I wonder why I’m lonely…

I’ll have to delve into my issues another time. Right now, I’m getting self-conscious about how long-winded I am (someone recently pointed out this flaw of mine in my comments section, and now my awareness of it has gone into hyper-drive).

May you find companionship, stability, and your own ways to cope with loneliness.

Much love,

~A~

P.S. The title is a reference to one of my favorite Beatles' songs, "Eleanor Rigby" (which was, thankfully, not ruined by the movie Across the Universe, which I saw earlier this week... Tangent: If you plan to go, make sure you pack some ibuprofen in your pocket. You'll probably need it.)
P.P.S. I remember hearing that one of the first recorded usages of the word "lonely" is in William Shakespeare's play "Coriolanus". I'm not sure if he invented it, but I wouldn't put it past him to create an adjective for the state of being alone. He was, after all, Shakespeare.