Finding l.u.x.u.r.y in the little things (and smirking at all the r.e.s.t)

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

"Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for."

Empty. Silent. Desolate. White. Cold. Impersonal.

Yet all screaming the same thing: loneliness.

As I sit quietly in my apartment, it's late at night...and that is what I am surrounded by. Every angle of the room, from the freshly primed, undecorated stark white walls to the bland beige carpet subtly mocks me, as I sit here alone with my laptop. I'm sorry, apartment. I would love nothing more than to fill your rooms full of laughter and memories to be cherished for a lifetime, but such a task becomes quite complicated when there aren't people around to laugh and make those memories with you. My own doormat, which sits properly just outside the front door of apartment number 47, serves as nothing more but an acting prop for the rest of the complex to see. It reads, "Good friends gather here." But it lies. Because no one gathers here.

You know, I've always been the definition of the word "independent." Give me a plane ticket to any country in this world, and I will not only adapt to the culture, but cultivate some of the strongest friendships that I've ever had. And I will thrive on it.

Yet, conversely, give me a job in Exton, Pennsylvania...and I sit in my apartment four months later, without one solid girlfriend with whom I can share a fancy martini on a Friday night...basking in our newfound adulthood and gossiping about the cute men who mysteriously roam the halls of our office buildings. It causes me to wonder: is it me, or is it the place?

I did manage to swing a new "boyfriend"--or whatever he calls himself--but somehow it doesn't erase the emptiness that can only be temporarily filled with my old memories for now. Now, that is what I find myself thriving off of, missing my friends more fiercely than ever.

It is my belief that as individuals, we are severely limited in controlling the way we turn out to be; there is only so much one person can bring to the table. The rest of our personality, attitude, morals, self-perspective and being is made up of little parts of other people...all combined as experiences amounting to the individual as a whole. I worry that my current lifestyle--completely alone, as I like to call it--will eventually catch up to me, diminishing the fun-loving, carefree, spirited Ashley that I consider myself to be. When it reaches the point that you'd rather stay at work than go home to an empty apartment. . . something needs to be done. The "boyfriend" lives elsewhere, and I'm lucky if I see him once a week at this point. That's probably just going to get worse. My co-workers are older, and have the responsibilities that come with having a family. And my friends are back where I left my life... my real life. So I'm left with me, myself and I.

I suppose I should quit whining and. . . go out and make friends. I know that's what you're thinking. But let me tell you--I hate being that weird girl who goes to the bar alone and expects to meet people. Because people who just start talking to people ARE weird. So then it means I must sit at the bar, trying my hardest to seem approachable, and act like I'm there by myself on purpose all at the same time...and hope that out of 10 creepos that come by, one might happen to be a decent girl that will magically want a new friend.

God that's so pathetic! Friend hunting! Ew! I think I might have to stop writing about this before I throw up all over myself because the way I'm talking you'd think I was some shy, introverted, taped-glasses wearing, former braces all-star geekzoid.

I promise I'm not.

Just lonely...


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