We ran into some old high school friends at the mall, oddly enough, completing the return to high school illusion, except that one of our old friends was there with her 3-month-old son. As we made our polite remarks about how cute the baby was, I couldn't help but wonder how much else had changed in the 2 years since high school. They asked us what our plans were for the big long weekend, and as I launched into an explanation of the parties we were supposed to be making appearances at the next day, and into a broad recounting of the relaxing Sunday I had in mind, I couldn't help but wonder how this 20-year-old girl with this 3-month-old baby would be spending her long weekend. Or the weekend after that. Or the summer. Or the next year. Not too many foreseeable beach parties or cottage getaways. But maybe I'm wrong.
As we said our goodbyes, I launched into a whole new line of thought. Here I was feeling sorry for this girl who wouldn't be able to party anymore (at least, not the way we do) or be whimsical or spontaneous - and yet, here I was, not knowing what I wanted to do not with the rest of my life - but even with the rest of my week. I mean sure, maybe fate dictated what her life was going to be for the next 18 years and more - but I had nothing to work towards whatsoever - chosen or determined by fate. What's my two year plan? Finish my degree. Then what? Finish another degree? Then what?Make some money. How? Where? Who will pay me? And to do what?
So I felt lost. And confused. And slightly lonely.
Most seconds of most of my days I'm perfectly happy being perfectly disgustingly cynical and horrid about the world - not demanding anything, not expecting anything - not really needing anything from anybody. Letting people come to me or problems sort themselves out or friendships fester while I keep busy with a storybook here or a lecture there. Occasionally, I'll forget that I'm a hermit and that I hate people, and I'll pick up the phone and call someone, just to talk - but this is so rare an occurance that I usually note down the exact time and location of it in the event that the same situational circumstances should ever present themselves again - so as to prevent a re-occurance of an emotional outburst. Well, I think I had two of those conversations this past year. Most of the rest of the time, stuff is purely business:
"Hey, haven't talked to you in a while."
"How was your weekend."
"Oh, you know. Work, fun. Chilling. You?"
"Oh, pretty much the same. I saw this great movie. *insert movie title here*."
"Oh yeah? I heard that was good. Maybe I'll check it out."
"Alright, I will. So, you wanna get together next *insert day here*?"
"Yeah, okay, lets go get lunch."
"Alright, well, I'll call you sometime during the week and we can finalize plans."
"So, what have you been up to?"
"Oh, you know..."
And so on.
And most days, this is just fine by me.
Half the stuff that goes through my head never makes it out, though. I know I'm not alone in that being a fact - it's just that, and well, maybe this is the result of years of fairy tales accumulating and multiplying in magnitude and importance in my head - but - I always thought that one day someone who just -fit- would show up, and I'd somehow magically recognize that they fit - and I'd tell them about some of the stuff that goes on in my head that never makes it out. I always thought that one day, some day, it would just come easily and naturally - and there'd be stuff, of course, and fights, I wouldn't expect less, and this, that, and the other...
And well, the truth is, that person doesn't exist. They can't, because I don't even know where I'm going. I don't really like where I'm coming from. And, well, I certainly don't know where I am or what I'm looking for. And that's the problem, because rather then trying to fix stuff, I'm waiting for someone to show up and fix it for me.