The Loneliness We Don’t Call Loneliness
Abandoned Garage, Prosper TX.
I don’t want to withdraw from the world, but lately I keep feeling like maybe I should. Too much of “the world” is this — our online presence — whether we’re lurking or participating. If I relied only on the people I actually see in person, my circle of friends would collapse into a dot.
In the last seven days, I’ve seen… three people. Not counting delivery drivers or cashiers. One was my elderly mom, who sees no one but me. Another was my wife. And by “seen,” I mean interacted with, did something with, met up with on purpose.
That’s fucking weird. In the 20th century, that would’ve been unthinkable.
All my work colleagues are remote. My twice‑a‑month game night is on Zoom.
This can’t be good. Convenient? Absolutely. But not good.
Oh — right. Church. I interacted with maybe a dozen people there. Jesus (ha), that’s still pitiful. My old‑man karate club starts back up Saturday. That’ll help.
There’s also a charity group meeting tonight, about 45 minutes away. I keep meaning to check it out. Will I talk myself out of it again? It’ll be cold. My wife will have just gotten home. And the ass‑groove on my couch is so easy to fall into.