pitter patter

i hate it when writers begin their work with the sentence "Such and such (fill in a word of your choice) is defined in the dictionary as being insert a narrative or descriptive phrase here" and then proceeding to narrate a painstakingly detailed tale that will not surprisingly end up with a most illuminating message of failure/triumph and/or the occasional hanging ending (those designed to make the reader reach their own conclusions) which will ultimately serve to give emphasis to that word with which the narrative began in the first place (making said preordained word the story’s theme). don’t believe me? think back to all those stories or essays you had to read or write in English classes of years past.

which is why i will not begin this piece by defining a word like irony, because i know you people are smart enough to know that it could mean a number of things, ranging from the use of words to express something opposite that of the original meaning; to an incongruity between the actual result of a series of events and the expected result; to a pretense of ignorance and of willingness to learn from another assumed in order to make another person’s false conceptions conspicuous by adroit questioning. i’m certain that like me, this knowledge was simply picked up during a routine reading of Webster’s dictionary.

life on earth is nothing if not a study in irony. i can’t speak for the martians and those living in galaxies far, far away (do you really, actually and completely buy the idea that life exists nowhere else?) but i’m pretty sure that green skin and sulfur-containing atmospheres would also provide a rich medium for healthy doses of irony for all.

being lonely and having way too much free time and wireless internet access on my hands has got me thinking about the mystical connection between loneliness and happiness. i must insist that there is, and the happiness of which i speak is not of the desperate or delusional kind. it’s a quiet kind of happiness. it may not always be of the laugh out loud kind, and may not always seem to be evident in the smile or the actuations, but it is always there.reserved ahd shy yet honest and very much real. sure, it’s always nice to have a nice and hearty laugh while being out on the town with friends. but to a weirdo like me, i have always thrilled at finding ways to entertain myself, whether it’s reading a good book, sitting at a coffehouse or parkbench and writing, taking a very long stroll at a boardwalk or losing spectacularly at slot machines. even staring at the big fluffy cumulus clouds in the sky and describing cloudshapes amuses me no end. staring at my bag collection is always a thrill, as is throwing out old pens from my desk or sharpening pencils in my dorm room.

being alone is just one of those things that i really enjoy. of course friends make life so much more interesting, noisy and chaotic, but i’ve never really had much patience or energy to deal with people all the time. dealing with myself is taxing enough as it is most of the time.

i love not having to explain to anyone where i’m going and what i’m doing and why i’m doing it every single day. i love not having to call or text anyone back to tell him how my day went, and i absolutely shudder at the thought of having to explain to anyone why i wasn’t thinking of him at that particular second of the day. i love not having to check with anyone else all the time, and the emotional freedom that comes along with it. sounds selfish? perhaps. but loners like me will understand.

but the life of a loner isn’t always the nice and free existence that it seems. even people who thrive on being alone feel that pang, that painful pang of wanting someone else on the journey. someone to debate whether a cloudshape resembles a santa claus or a rabbit (trust me, there was this one day when i couldn’t tell), someone to walk 2 miles with in 19 degree cold, and someone to gaze at a marvelous cityscape with. or, more importantly, someone to lend me a couple bags of quarters for the slot machine when i run out.

but then again, as is oft to happen, fantasy gives way to reality. and i am back where i started. i’m a loner-who-doesn’t-appear-to-be-a-loner-but-always-feels-like-a-loner-
who-wishes-she-wouldn’t-be-
so-alone-but -actually-loves-to-hate-being-alone.