My dog laid on my couch as he watched me pack my things. He had his legs tucked underneath him and, with his fur spread out to his sides, he looked like he sank into the couch cushions. He knew the score, I was leaving again. I guess, in contrast to his usual, hyper-active jumps and trots, he opted for this motionless stance, his attentive eyes betraying an otherwise still body.
Leaving my parents house after a visit is something that I really dislike. I never liked how sad my dog seems, even though I only live in the next county and I am able to see him often. But that is also something that happens all the time, and none of those times have left me sad for long. At least until now.
Maybe it's the fact that today is Christmas, but as I pulled away from my parents house and drove onto the freeway, I was faced with the strong sense of loneliness. I didn't have anything to help me deal with it: no dog, no television, and no radio (my car radio having been dead for a few years now). I didn't even have my phone near me so I could play music off of it. I had no distractions; just the steady, stinging sensation of loneliness.
It's an awesome feeling to be sure. That stinging sensation lived in my core, but the energy from that moved throughout until it seemed to hover around my body. It was an aura so thick that my mind couldn't stop obsessing over it. I knew that it was a need easily fixed by being near another person, but nothing like that was available to me and could not be found at this moment. Mulling over that thought just made the emotion more present. It's a feeling so awesome that it hurt.
My reactions to this were complex and varied in intensity. At the least, I wanted to see my dog, my parents, a friend, or perhaps go to a bar and talk about random crap over a mug of beer. At worse I thought of death, which caused my mind to spiral through memories of depression, which followed with constant reminders of strategies I have used to overcome them. Ultimately, I quickly reminded myself that death would kind of mess up the act of living, which is the reason why I am able to think about all of this in the first place.
It still sucks, though, and there's really nothing I can do or say to change that at this moment (somehow, the mechanical keyboard I'm typing with isn't exactly hug-able). I'll be able to cope later by looking at cats on YouTube or playing a little guitar. Hell, even writing this post has done much to take the edge off. But it's still going to be there for a while and I guess that's okay. Like the old ass cliche of being pinched to see if you're awake, having loneliness crop up is a prickly way of reminding me that I'm alive. It's just another thing that I'll take in as experience. And cherishing experience is something that I am ready to do now.
