Feeling as if the world is just passing you by is never good….

…especially if you are now sitting alone in an apartment that, just last week, was bustling, and sometimes busting at the seams with people. Having had to watch two
different people walk out the door to their respective adventures, within a span of days, I find myself in one of those unnecessarily reflective and self-pitying moods – so much for a Non-Pathetic Fallacy. Even a stroll through the rain was not doing much to take my mind off things, but that rain-soaked jock huffing up the hill was certainly one beautiful band-aid (I kid… well, to some degree) – alas, band-aids usually do not stick through heavy beatings of moisture and physical activity.

As you know, Transformer has left to work miles away and inch closer to his dream of realizing Petrovsky (career-wise, of course), and it is that passion that makes him so attractive on top of aesthetics. Well, Beautiful Fag-Hag has also left for home, and perhaps a new scholarly adventure thereafter. I, on the other hand, am soldiering on solo: sans-boyfriend and sans-roommate – both temporary, I would hope. As comfortable as it may be to roam around the apartment in my boxers, I also prefer to do so with some sort of audience (tee-hee). But, in all seriousness, I quite miss waking up next to someone, or at least waking up to be greeted by that I-have-slept-in-for-the-third-day-in-a-row-now-and-it’s-not-just-because-we-idiotically-decided-to-watch-a-three-hour-movie-at-one-in-the-morning look. And there is the crux of it all: I miss my roomie, Beautiful Fag-Hag (cue All By Myself) .

Earlier last week, despite all the pandemonium, it felt like a vacation. At first, I figured it was because school had just ended and it was a new apartment. But now, I am starting to think that it is because of how pristine this new place is, because now it really just feels like I have been staying at a hotel. The windows look out towards the university campus and all its lights, the extremely comfortable sofa, and the overall feeling that every surface is glimmering makes this apartment feel like living in a hotel. It is like I am sitting in an upscale restaurant with a plate of grilled lamb chop and braised beets, knowing full well that I would be happier at a diner and eating a burger and fries, with a milkshake. It’s the warmth and lived-in feeling that was literally all over the walls in the previous home – yes, I am referring to the scarlet-red walls. Even when I would have to spend weekends alone, I felt enveloped and familiar. Maybe I just need time… time to acclimate to a new place that holds just as much potential.

Having lived with Beautiful Fag-Hag for two years, it had become second nature to expect a second body in the household. So, not having that someone to come home to may have forced me back into that corner – the one with a trap door into spinsterhood. As ridiculous as that sounds, dancing and singing like no one is watching, when there really is NO ONE watching, just makes me a crazy person (even if it is in my own home). As well, living alone in a city whose nightlife is highly dependent upon the presence of university students does not have much of a rebuttal. Maybe I still need to settle into my new abode, because no matter how long I veg on the sofa, it just does not feel the same. Even simply vegging on the sofa makes me think of the old futon wherein we had spent many a time simply staring out to the forest view of our windows. Is it just me, or is Dionne Warwick my movie montage for this moment?

So here’s to you my dear friend, living without you is actually really strange. I know that you kept trying to have that we-won’t-be-roommates-anymore-and-it’s-the-end-of-an-era speech, and I kept avoiding it; thus, my suppression has lashed out such that I am ravaging those abandonment tissues. I know that we will still see each other , but it really is not the same…is it? But, remember that we are betrothed, and that by the age of 40, married or not, we are to marry and adopt kids. Honey, you have enchanted me like no other woman ever will, and consequently, grilled-cheese sandwiches will never taste the same (no matter how late at night I make them).

By the way, who originally sang that song you’re singing out loud... can we please keep it that way? Hee hee hee...I love you too, XOXO. Here's to us, I just wanted to stop and thank you, baby...