Loneliness. It ain't for suckers.

I'm dog-sitting for two weeks for a woman I work with. We don't know each other all that well, this woman and I, however we share a name and have passed by each other in the hall and said hello nearly everyday for the last, I dunno, 6 or 7 years. (My God.) And when someone told her all about my situation (you know: divorce, living at my mother's, a room with no door, etc.), she thought I would be the perfect person 'cause why wouldn't I want someone's, anyone's, house to myself for two weeks?

Which is totally what I thought at first, too. A house to myself and all I have to do is care for these two tiny poodles? Easy peasy! Except then reality set in. Dogs require work. I mean, sure they're cute and they nap a lot and I'm not forced to make conversation, but there's also the walks (several of them during which I get pulled in two different directions 'cause God forbid we walk in tandem) and the picking up of not one but two shits (if not more), plus all the other crap that goes along with taking care of someone's animals. Suddenly I think I'd rather be at home in my doorless room.

(I guess it could be worse. They could be babies.)

(No offense if you have a baby. I'm sure he or she or it is adorable. I just wouldn't want to take care of a human baby for two weeks. Ya know?)

And on top of it all, get this: I'm. Fucking. Lonely.

This is so not supposed to be part of the plan. I'm supposed to be soaking up the solitude! Walking around in the buff! Watching terrible sitcoms and the Food Network for hours on end! I am not supposed to be lonely. I mean, I just don't do lonely. You got me? I'm an introvert (bordering recluse) and I recharge her battery by being ALONE.

But there you have it. I'm lonely. And it occurred to me: I've never not come home to someone. First my parents... then my husband... and then, you know, my parents again. (Except for a very brief 3-month stint of living in my own apartment when I was nineteen that I totally wouldn't have been able to afford had I lived there any longer and not moved north with a man who would eventually become my husband.) (But that's neither here nor there.)

And I'm wondering if this is what my life will be like when I eventually maybe someday move out of my mother's house and into a place of my own. And also, is this why I've been so happy? Because I've been surrounded by people both at home and at work to keep me in high spirits and feeling anything but lonely? And, if so, is the happiness a facade?

And all of the sudden I miss my husband! And I'm second-guessing myself! And wondering if it's all a HUGE MISTAKE! And abusing exclamation points!

I am nothing if not consistent in my foolishness.

So, I take a lot of deep breaths and remind myself that this too shall pass.

I have no plans to do anything stupid. I've made my decisions and despite current levels of loneliness I still believe they're the right ones, but... damn.

Being lonely... it kinda blows.

The one that actually has nothing to do with my husband.

Just when I think I'm doing all right, I'm happy, everything's good... I do something to remind myself of just how fucked up I actually am. That doesn't mean the former isn't true. I am doing all right, I am happy, everything is good. But sometimes I just wish I wasn't so effing nuts. Or that I'd finally seek counseling. Like I know I should have done a long ass time ago. (Yeah, yeah, yeah... I know.)

So, I started a new blog. (I may have mentioned it once or twice.) My friend Z and I started it. It's a book blog and it's great! No, seriously, it is! I love it! I've found myself thinking, why didn't I start blogging about books sooner?!

So, what's the problem, you ask? ('Cause, of course, there has to be a problem.)

Well, peeps, my inner control freak is having a major anxiety attack and I don't know how to beat it into submission.

And it isn't her. Z is great. Better than! No, It's all me. Bringing this on myself. (Like I do.) But the loss of control... not being able to make decisions on my own, not being able to change things on a whim, having to ask someone else before I do anything... it's making my hair itch.

I was telling my sister about this last night and she just looked at me and said, "And this is a surprise to you?" It shouldn't be! I know (knew) I'm a control freak! But but but I just thought... I love Z (she's my favorite person!) and I love books and I love to blog... this should be easy!

It's not. At least, not for me. And I'm afraid that I'm going to let the anxiety and control-freak-ish-ness overwhelm me and I'll give into doing something that I'll regret.

Tell me what to do! Tell me how to be normal! How do I shut the control freak up?! Help!

So, I'm a little late.

He was all "have you hit 100,000 miles yet?" and I was all "not yet, but any day now" and then, the next day, I realized it had already come and gone. I love this car. Depite the insistently spreading crack in my windshield, the clock light that fades in and out on a whim, and the little compartment door that refuses to close... I hope to hell this car lasts me another few hundred thousand miles. Now, if someone would just pay for those new brakes I need...