Restlessness

I feel that restlessness that is a result of loneliness right now. Instead of going out and slamming back alcohol and fixing my boobs in a too tight shirt all night, I threw myself a pity party, with me acting as the guest of honor and my Indian take out place catering the vegetable samosas and naan bread that went with my out-of-a-box saag paneer. By the way, cheese coming out of a box, even if it is in creamed spinach is as appealing as it sounds and does not taste the way it looked in the picture. It was one of those days that no matter how many people I made laugh, or went rollerblading with after work for a few hours, it just wasn’t enough, and it failed to provide me with a feeling of security and distraction from my emotional roller coaster week. Sitting in front of the computer for eight hours taking screen shots, didn’t help my depressed and lonely mood either.

As Friday afternoon rolled around, and although my body craved the effects from a bottle of ice cold champagne, and my mind needed a friend seated across me in an outdoor café, I realized that there wasn’t anyone who fit the mood available. Either my closest friends don’t live in the city (wifey, today totally had your name written all over it), my friends who live here are in relationships where the ass is plentiful and the Friday evening plans are assumed on the calendar, or my laziness won out and I didn’t feel like putting forth an effort to have a conversation with someone.

That’s what makes afternoons in cafes so special. You tend to want to be seated across the person or persons at the table, and the wine in front of you is there as a prop to loosen tongues instead of acting as a vehicle of social lubrication. Very few people are absolute pleasures to be around, where the friendship is so comfortable that neither one takes offense to the inevitable silence, instead the break is seen as kismet, both parties taking a break at the same time, instead of simultaneously having run out of things to say.

When I returned home, I made a few of the obligatory Friday night phone calls, feeling out the waters, testing to see if I would short change myself on what I actually wanted. Tonight, unlike many nights, I just couldn’t do it. Maybe it was because of the intense rollerblading session for over an hour and having faced death several times within that period (I almost went straight into oncoming traffic on the West Side Highway) or maybe it is because I am not just physically tired, but emotionally as well. But tonight I refused to have the see-saw conversation where each person talks at each other, listening for the sole purpose of accruing time to vent, instead of caring what the other person is saying.

With tv failing to comfort me via hollow distraction, I put on my pj pants and roamed the streets of SoHo. I had to leave my apartment. Part of me hoped that I could run away from the loneliness I felt, showing me that it was really my apartment’s fault and not my own while the more pragmatic side wished that the weekend warriors’ gregarious mood would rub off and lighten mine. After fifteen minutes of the charade, I walked back to my apartment. A lesson I would like to share: walking through the streets of SoHo in your pj pants and an old t-shirt will not make you feel better. Actually, it made me feel worse because I realized not only did I feel pathetic, but I looked the part. Especially rocking the messy side pony tail.

So instead of keeping the boast I promised my friend, telling him how tonight was going to be a night of champagne decadence—both the night and beverage being delicate, not too heavy, and leaving the slightest taste on the tongue, I am left in my bed, writing in my blog while digesting two deep fried veggie samosas. And we can’t forget the naan and the saag paneer that came out of a box.

It’s nights like tonight that remind me why I am ready to leave the city. I just hope that my homesickness won't leave me romanticizing an already strained relationship with my life in NYC. Because, a relationship that sucks, is a relationship that sucks, no matter how unsure the prospect of a new one is on the horizon.