Everybody talks to themselves….right?
This is the last thing I would ever want to sound assertive about, because it’s a quality in myself that terrifies me and makes me feel very uncool, because I often find myself walking and thinking, and then I realize that as I’m passing all these people on campus or wherever, my lips are moving. It’s entirely embarrassing, but then again, it could be one of those things like how nobody but me notices that my nostrils are crooked. So is it?
The reason I ask you, empty Internetlandia, is because I find myself having really insistent conversations tonight. I cannot keep my head in my book, partly because I was listening to music, and when you listen to music and read, it should be music you’ve heard before, not a newly downloaded album. I also partly can’t keep my head in the book because it’s The Journals of Sylvia Plath, and it’s a very exhausting read that will take me about a hundred years, because I usually only manage about 10 pages per sitting. But I also just can’t concentrate on reading because I keep thinking about conversations I’d like to be having or things I’d explain to people or whatever it is that is unimportant but that I think about. It’s like I’m absolutely desperate for conversation.
I haven’t exactly been Suzie Social since I got home on Wednesday, but I’ve certainly had contact with other humans since being home, so can I really be starved for company? I don’t even like company; I’m always thinking about how I love being alone or with a small group of people. But it’s summer, and it’s maybe a bit unnerving that I don’t know who is available to be my human company if I want it. I like being sort of lonely and out of touch with people during the summer, but that feeling has dwindled slightly since college threw me and all my relationships with people out of whack. Maybe it’s that I just spent six weeks doing one of those magical summery things, but it didn’t feel as magical as some summers. It felt many other positive and negative things, but it didn’t really feel like summer. Then again, I was in the southern hemisphere, so in a technical way, it wasn’t summer.
But I’ve grown accustomed to (that’s not quite the verb I wanted, but the Spanish verb “soler” doesn’t really have a good English equivalent…”be in the habit of” doesn’t have a very nice ring to it) pairing summer experiences with great, long conversations, and I haven’t had one of those in a long time. My, do I miss my Fridays. And writing camp. And cherubs. And knowing where I am. This is very off-putting, because I do not know what I’m supposed to be doing. That also means that I am doing a lot of reading and I am feeling compelled to write, and I’m actually writing, so it’s not really a bad thing so much as just a necessary discomfort for a good thing. However, it would be nice to occasionally spice my old maid lifestyle up with some good conversation and chai or something.