more navel gazing

The other night I went out for a few drinks with an old friend, B. We sat at the bar and caught up, reminiscing about the old days when we got into a lot of trouble together. Skinnydipping after the bars closed, boy-swapping, and 4am taps on the window were par for the course. Surprisingly I've never been annoyed with B and we've never fought--we have a fun friendship that is lighthearted and yet not insignificant. I look forward to more rabble-rousing now that she is living in Vancouver.

It was fun to go out and scope out the Friday night Yaletown scene, but also depressing. It was a certifiable moldy sausage-fest. Groups of men in their 40s hung off their tables, hungry and leering and every woman who walked by. It felt like we were surrounded by zombies, soul-less creatures operating on autopilot: MUST GET LAID BY 20-SOMETHING WOMAN. I wanted to tell them that they should be home in the suburbs, mowing the lawn or reading in bed instead of slobbering over girls young enough to be their daughters. But who am I to judge? Better to just duck and dodge as if we were in some real-life zombie video game. Duck, and dodge. Duck, and dodge.

I guess I'm already lonely. Soon I'll be living by myself and no one will notice if I don't come home at night. I realize now how good it felt to be someone's partner, even if I didn't always recognize how good it felt to need and be needed at the time. In my depressive state-of-mind today I'm dreading the loneliness that comes from hanging out with people I don't like only because there is no one else available, being brushed off by friends who are infatuated with their current amours, and feeling disappointed when people appear and disappear without explanation. That stuff is a part of life, but it was easier to deal with when someone was at home waiting for me.