Chicken and Egg

I had a weird... couple of days. Let's say from around 8PM July 4th to right now at this very moment.

Let's start at 1PM July 4th. My ex-Roommate, who is still refer to as my roommate, to everyone's confusion, picked me up and drove me to her house. I had not seen her in quite some time and her birthday recently passed. To make a long story short we had a great time catching up. Then it was time for her to drop me off.

When I got up to my apartment, about 8PM, I was suddenly very alone. Both of my roommates, who are actually my roommates, were gone to their respective family's house for Independence Day. That's fine, I had resigned myself to an evening on my own. I watched TV and did homework until the fireworks started.

I had been sitting on my couch watching TV when I heard the first firework. Then I turned around to face my window. I watched fireworks from my apartment. My living room overlooks lake Washington. In the distance I can see the Space Needle and Mount Rainier. They shoot fireworks from lake Washington and I saw them all. From my couch. I didn't have to sit in traffic, I didn't have to wade through crowds, or save my spot, or deal with drunk people. I got to sit on my couch with the TV playing in the background, a glass of juice, and my whole kitchen 5 feet away.

I was overwhelmed with gratitude. When will I ever experience anything quite like that? Who gets to experience that? It is not often that I notice once in a life-time experiences. They happen more often than I recognize, I'm sure of it, but this one slapped me across the face. I was glad the firework show ended when it did, any longer and I would have probably started balling. I mean, happy, joyous, overwhelmed balling, but balling nonetheless.

It ended like all fireworks shows must, like everything in life must, and I went back to watching Torchwood. Yet another nerdy TV show I have started in the last year. Too many to count.

On Friday I went back to the daily grind. I have Italian class for 3.5 hours in the morning and work for 2.5 hours in the afternoon everyday. Everyday. And sometimes after that I work out.

I did not work out on Friday, yesterday. I wanted to work out, honestly, because to be frank I feel like a fat fuck. Or, to put it in a more appropriate way, I have had pretty fucking low self esteem lately. I know it is normal to be, like, normal. I know it's okay to gain weight, especially as you grow older. I know when I do gain weight it just fills out my already curvy body. I know you can't tell or don't care or don't think it's a bad thing. I know all this. I can actually look outside of myself well enough to comprehend. But I feel fat. No I don't feel FAT like obese or overweight. I feel fat as in, could be skinnier. I feel fat as in, have been skinnier.

Instead of working out I met a girl who might move in to my apartment in September when one of my roommates studies abroad. She's nice, but then again they all have been. I am the queen of roommates. Bridget, Madeline, Katy, Alexandra, Laura, Julia, Alex, Emily, Bailey, Hannah. Some have been better (Bridget) than others (Laura). They know this. I know this. It doesn't matter if I'm A+ compatible with a roommate. Because after TEN roommates, I know, whatever differences you have. It won't last. I have lived in five places in the last three years. One dorm hall, another dorm hall, an apartment in Rome, an apartment in Seattle, and home. I don't leave. They do.

This girl I met, she was nice. One of the nicer ones, if we are frank. Not that nice means good or compatible. But having a nice roommate is, coincidentally, very nice. It's so easy.

Nice. I told people this guy I had met was nice. It was a great word for him. Nice fit him well because it could include caring, interesting, funny, smart. But it didn't have to. He was nice. He was, but I don't see him anymore. Oops, we're facebook friends so I hope he's not a reader. I'm sure he'll be very nice about it if he is.

After she left I made dinner. Oh my good lord did I make dinner. I never make dinner. And I drank wine. I never drink wine. And I watched half an Italian movie and more Torchwood, which apparently I have started doing more often. And then I drank more wine, because, heck, I had half a bottle and both my roommates were gone.

By the time my roommates both had returned I was tipsy and melancholy, several episodes deep into Torchwood. Once I was several glasses of wine deep into my evening, I really didn't realize how lonely I was. I had been lonely with out my roommates and now they were home and I was still lonely. And tipsy. And in love with yet another nerdy fictional character.

I woke up hangover-less which I thanked God for, since I get the worst white wine hangovers.

Today was a low spot. I did nothing, which is always a dangerous thing to do. I read, I slept, I did Italian, I went and bought another bottle of wine, I cooked, I ate, I went to the movies. I did nothing. And all day I have been in a funk. A big, lonely, funk.

After I got home from the movies, about an hour ago, I was hell bent on finding an answer. Why am I in such a funk.

Dual reasons. In no particular order: I am bored. I am lonely. I think they are in fact connected. One may have even cause the other. I do not know if my boredom caused my loneliness or my loneliness caused my boredom but suddenly I am trapped with twin specters haunting my life.

Boredom and loneliness. The two worst human conditions for a smart, young, energetic person. Boredom and loneliness sap me of my creativity, my ambition.

They are worse than being sad. I'm not sad. I'm actually quite content. No one has done me wrong. I'm doing well in school and work.

But boredom and loneliness are the worst kind of bullies.