I feel mopey. Probably because I’m listening to Travis. And Joni Mitchell. And Norah Jones. And it probably doesn’t help that Norah makes me think of Austin. And that Austin makes me think of the boy who isn’t calling. But anyway, you try to find me music that isn’t about love - or at least romance or relationships, none of which I feel like thinking about right now.
I had a moment earlier this week that was a first for me - and not necessarily a pleasant first. I’ve been technically alone (meaning sans romantic relationship) for pretty much all of my life. But I’ve never felt lonely. Never. Not once. Well, actually, that’s not true. I was kinda lonely living in England, but I was lonely for America and my friends, so that doesn’t count.
But as I was laying in bed Sunday night trying to fall asleep, I felt a sort of unease, an emptiness. And I realized that I finally knew what everyone meant when they talked about sleeping alone. I’ve personally always preferred sleeping alone. But then I’ve really not liked most of the people I’ve had occasion to fall asleep with - at least not in a lasting, meaningful way. But I also think I knew beforehand that each of those relationships were fleeting, that we were essentially not compatible or that the timing was wrong.
Only this time felt different. I actually liked him, was intrigued by him, took chances for him. And I fell asleep with his hands on me (but for the love of all that is holy, why do guys always rest their hands on precisely the parts of my body that I am most insecure about? How do they divine this anyway?) But never mind that. The point is that I fell asleep wrapped up in him. And he felt warm, and strong, and secure. But in the end, I guess, perhaps I was to him what all the guys before him have been to me. I think I’m beginning to see how easy it is to blur the lines of sex and intimacy - and how signals get crossed.
This feels like progress somehow. Progress sucks.
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