What is the study of being lonely? By the hundreds and thousands I’m sure. After having sped through a lonesome self-proclaimed non-protagonist by Douglas Coupland and now a quarter of the way through another spiteful yet so incredibly lovable character by Wally Lamb, whom I had first been introduced to in Grade 8, by not my English, but my Science teacher; at the end of all this nonsense I find myself contemplating the universal idea of being alone.

Maybe it’s the damn Vancouver rain.

In any event, it’s an uphill battle starting the weekend…Now just strictly caught up on the off handed comedy in When Harry met Sally. So it really boils down to this romance thing. Not even 12 hours into my day and got bootied call superficially by the count of 3. Boy, you can say alcohol and loneliness has sent me on a good hunting in the last few months.

Having waddled through the morality, the principles and any amount of social stigma, it’s not a matter of expectancy that leaves me rather vacant. What else do I expect in the manner I meet these people? Sex doesn’t scare me no longer, it became a motion, and I will stand for the account to milk the cow before you buy it any day still. Maybe that is why I am so drawn to Wally Lamb books, the way he drafts his characters to be not just deliberately spiteful, as if the idea of a anti-protagonist-protagonist had not occurred to writers to psychologically backflip the small part of ourselves that is equally petty and disturbing to be perversely drawn to these creative figures…but that they simply are. Backed up with enough self talk and cut off dialogues that makes you reel at their self portrait. They’re simply quite terrible people with a lot of flaws mentally torturing themselves like the rest of us.

The obvious result of this a lot of people like to tell me is because I am selling myself out short. I ought to just stop letting myself go at the sleeping and hold off and enjoy being single. For the most part I don’t mind it. The last time I was a girlfriend it was fairly miserable for half of the relationship, so no, I don’t particularly mind. And with all my lustrous exposure to self dissection in counselling sessions counting the multitudes of years, I wonder if I’m in denial or simply impassive, at least at the present, to the concept of being alone.

Point being, I’ve finally turned 20 and feel equally as ready to meet the world as I am still to roll over and be a little girl again, underneath a big man to carry things over for the next little while at least.

No, I get it, girls don’t happen to ruin themselves on account of good self esteem.

However so, I find myself pointedly comparing experiences and thinking time and time again that same older family friend of mine whom I had written about here and posted in forlorn fashion…to finally get without trying a year later and realize it wasn’t that great. Then I wonder why is it that even in recalling the sensation of laying in someone’s arm, no matter whom – the guy that I’ve met once and have not seen again nor heard from in the last week alas…how another individual can be so warm, how easy it is to fall asleep that way. Shocking lonely hits your gut like that under sheets that are still warm from your embrace and now you try to tell yourself to just go to sleep.