Addendum:
I am a firm believer in the power of intention and also believe that I wrote the below post in a spirit of authenticity and positive intent. As such, the next morning, I found myself the recipient of what is oftentimes referred to as the law of attraction, the reverberation of my positive energy out into the world and back to myself, a point evidenced by the two party invitations I received for New Years Eve as well as the Sunday night dinner date I was asked to by a charming person…and all that within a day of having wrote the below post, discussing loneliness and single life. And now, off I trot to put on a pretty dress, tie up my hair and strap on my favorite pair of high heels. Happy New Year.

I’m about to get really real here so brace yourselves.
I’m lonely. Maybe it’s just tonight that I am feeling so isolated, nevertheless it feels deeper seated and longer lived. I don’t know why, but I’ve often found feelings of loneliness particularly difficult to own, like they are some sort of failure. I pride myself on my independence and self sufficiency; I go to movies alone, I live alone, I walk into parties alone…and I’m ok with all that. But I won’t deny that it’s oftentimes difficult. New Years is fast approaching and I find myself, yet again, dateless and without dependable plans.
I know it’s not so simple, but I just want to pose this singular, self pitying question to the void – what is WRONG with me that I am dateless on New Years, and coming up on yet another Valentines Day spent on my own watching rom coms and eating popcorn?
Alright, I know it’s not so uncomplicated a situation…but it feels that way in my weaker moments. “It’s not you”, say my girlfriends, “it’s the plethora of retarded and indecisive guys out there”….or the fact that Manhattan houses an unlimited quantity of beautiful women and homosexual men, but few single, attractive and somewhat kind heterosexual men. Most of the time I believe this, but in this lonely late night moment, I feel like I’m the un-desirable actor here.

I’m not one for labels, or rushed commitments, but I do like to sleep beside another warm person’s body, or feel the pressing and reassuring weight of strong arms around my small shoulders. It saddens me how constantly I’ve ached for those things in my life and how simultaneously seldom I have been able to depend upon them with any consistency.

This all sounds rather “woe is me,” and it is to a certain extent, but pointed at the fact that, despite my adamant assertions of indifference towards the opposite sex, I care. And despite my course of study, so steeped in critical gender theory, I feel like a little piece of myself goes missing when I don’t have a date to get excited for or an interesting guy to sit next to in class. I resent the idea that a woman is completed by a man, and yet I subscribe to it on some unconscious level, I must or I wouldn’t be writing this.

Christmas in Connecticut~

I left my New York last night, finally finished with finals and free to trot off to the country for a double hitter holiday, first with my dad in New Hampshire and then in CT with mom. I’m sitting on the sofa now, twenty to twelve on a Tuesday night with nowhere to go and no homework to do, and trying to de-activate the critically conditioned lens that my course load last semester demanded of me. Normally such is easy, as this sofa is a judgment free zone, a place where I am wholly myself, at liberty to sit around in sweats and stuff my face. But not so much tonight as with the onset of Christmas comes the arrival of family...which is fine but also feels a little like a real life reflection of a semester full of the judgment I've read, responded to and yes, even made myself. Where the opinions and critiques I encounter in an educational environment are limited to the page, or contained by the classroom, the perceptions, comments or raised eyebrows of certain Christmastime company are less easily controlled.

It feels to me like the more criticism I am around, the more I apply to myself and that makes me uncomfortable. Last night, before I jetted out, I met my best friend for a quick cocktail at Coffee Shop. We laughed and swapped stories about final exams and the men who distracted our attention from them. The personal quality of our conversation was effortless and based on an unspoken trust that is rooted in freedom; the freedom to be oneself, to have independent thoughts, and to do things knowing that the other person will support you, regardless of whether they would do the same themselves. Not so at Christmas in Clinton CT where, “now why did you do it that way?” is a question commonly posed in accordance with a seemingly curious facial expression that belies the certitude of the inevitable explanation as to why whatever you are doing is being executed inefficiently, and is therefore proof positive of your utter incompetence.

If that last sentence sounded like a lot, it was meant as a mirror to the overwhelming nature that constant critique of one's actions, be they spoken or just implied, can incite in an otherwise relaxed person such as myself. Makes me miss New York, where everyone is their own little island, affixed to an Ipod and intent upon minding their own business.

I just saw the movie, “Waitress” and loved it. If you haven’t yet seen the film, watch it. The main character is, not surprisingly, a waitress. She has, however, a special talent for making spectacularly unique pie, creative expressions of her inner angst, joy or any combination of the two. Our waitress, Jenna, is married to a complete doorstop of a man who is narcissistic, jealous, and whose face resembles a giant potato. Jenna is therefore despondent when she discovers herself pregnant. Luckily, she meets and falls for her adorable pediatrician who is as earnest and sweet as her husband is a boob. He adores her and they begin a springtime affair.

At one point in the film, writing a letter to her child to be in reference to a particularly tender moment with her lover/doctor, Jenna writes,
“Dear Baby, I hope someday somebody wants to hold you for 20 minutes straight and that's all they do. They don't pull away. They don't look at your face. They don't try to kiss you. All they do is wrap you up in their arms without an ounce of selfishness in it.”
As she said that, I began to sob, slowly at first and then dramatically, so much so that I grabbed my notebook and wrote the following:

My heart is thawing now,
And it hurts like a dry sob.

Where before it had settled into a dull ache, frozen over and forgotten,
It’s crying now, deep tears I can’t stop.

I’m scared of this impossible heartache,
I’d rather the chill of indifference, I have so recently felt so close.

I’m afraid I’ll never fall in love,
That no one will love me, even if I do.
I’m afraid that no one will hold me,
That I won't feel peaceful in their arms, even if they do.

I'm afraid that my heart will be stuck forever in this fear,
half cooked and always in want of a warm skillet.

It’s cheesy but it’s true. I had a date last night, my second one with the same person. The entire process exhausts me, beginning with an anxious battle between my rational mind and emotive fears, all leading up to my walking out the door. It gets easier in the moment, when I'm actually sitting with the person. But I can't keep from looking for the spark? Did I feel it? Or was that just the rum and coke?
And when did this ever get so hard?
Somewhere between love, disappointment, and the illusion of both.

Baby don't you cry,
gonna make a pie,
gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle.
Baby don't be blue,
gonna make for you,
gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle.

Gonna make a pie from heaven above,
gonna be filled with strawberry love.
Baby don't you cry,
gonna make a pie,
and hold you forever in the middle of my heart.