"What's wrong with you?"
"I don't know."
"Something's up. What is it?"
"Fuck, I don't know."
I'm confused but it's not that good time confused like "I'm confused because I'm not confused." No, instead I get the real confused, the puzzled renderings that pop through my head like the time my boss spent most of a morning popping bubble wrap in his office. POP! POP! Confused. What's my problem? I don't know.
These days love, romance, and desire, having spent so long keeping their distance, are now circling me slowly. They're trying to corner me but I'm resisting. I keep telling them everything is futile, that I'm destined to spend the rest of my life alone. My body was asleep but now it's awake and betraying me like there's no tomorrow. I don't know what my problem is.
There's no one here that's what the problem is. My body, even now as I'm writing this, is getting regular doses of the warm fuzzies. I'm practically torturing myself with love, romance, and desire on a daily basis. Sure, it's all mentally driven, mental pictures, but I'm still doing it, willingly. I don't know what my problem is.
I'm still alone, make no mistake. It's just me, the dog, and the entire universe of my inner life here. I don't even have a crush on anyone right now. There are no possibilities on the horizon.
The warm fuzzies...make my extraordinary loneliness stand out in vivid detail. The warm fuzzies...bring my aloneness into painfully sharp relief. The warm fuzzies...keep it all front and center. I can't push it away, rationalize it away to my friends or to myself. No, love, romance, and desire are right here with me. I don't know what my problem is.
Why now of all times when I'm really getting into this being alone thing? I feel so comfortable alone. I like being alone. It's a good thing.
I'm the loneliest person I know.
I have serious doubts that will change anytime soon. I long to have someone in my life now but I can't imagine doing anything about it. The warm fuzzies...make me question why I'm alone. There doesn't seem to be a good reason for it, not after all this time. Maybe four years ago it made sense in a licking-my-wounds sort of way but the warm fuzzies, love-romance-desire, are making me question my choice to be alone.
Nothing's going to change. I'm sure of it. Even with all these self-inflicted warm fuzzies, I'm not feeling a need to alter anything that goes on in my daily life. I'll eventually get past this self-inflicted daily torture I'm subjecting myself to and go back to my usual self, right? Uh-huh.
Fuck. I don't know what my problem is.