The Cheese Stands Alone

i was making mashed potatoes at 3:06am as i am often found doing whilst intoxicated, and i realized no one else was awake. the apartment wasn't empty by any means-- there were two sleeping roommates and one sleeping friend-- but i was suddenly aware that i was the only one conscious.

what surprised me was that i wasn't bothered by the idea of being the only one awake like i am bothered by the idea of being completely alone. in fact, watching the potatoes boil felt somewhat meditative and i found myself deep in pleasant thought.

if i were completely alone, making the same meal at the same 3am hour, i would've felt panicky and anxious. i don't like to be alone and i certainly don't like it while doing mundane activities. when you're with a friend, getting stamps isn't just getting stamps, it's a postal-relevant adventure.

while i swirled the mashed potatoes in their pot, i thought about how calm i felt about being in the kitchen with no one to talk to. i debated whether it was because my roommates were technically there (just asleep), or if i had just come to enjoy my alone-time over the last few weeks.

and then i was hit with a brief, and very gentle, panic. i suddenly felt very alone. i saw the mashed potatoes swirling about, looking up at me and thinking, "look at this guy: he's making that meal again. he's so lonely." and in that moment of potato-mockery, it seemed like all three sleeping friends were no longer in the apartment. i could feel the same anxiety i felt when i became newly single in my own studio. not just alone, but alone in the middle of the night when there is no remedy. it made me breath fast and want to shout anything shoutable and immediate.

the potatoes were done quickly, so it wasn't long before i was back to normal and dealing with garlic butter instead.

but the whole thing got me curious of our minds perception of "alone." i am not a fan of being alone-- i've been enjoying the new me-time, but i'm always more comfortable around people-- and yet, the idea of being in an apartment with three friends asleep didn't worry me until i stopped to consider whether it meant i was alone. it was like my mind could recognize i was by myself, but considered it something else because there were still humans nearby.

i don't think i had ever attempted to put words to what my mind defines as "alone." and just assumed that being in a room with no one else was all it could mean.

but it's like the difference between going to a bar to grab a beer by yourself, and going to a bar with a friend, but having to sit alone while they used the bathroom. in the moment that you're waiting for your friend to return, there is a certain calm because your mind knows you're not actually alone.

i like to draw alone, and read alone, but those sorts of activities are bringing me to an imaginary world where i am not alone.

maybe this is why it's important for lonesome people to get out and surround themselves with people-- even unfamiliar strangers. we all must be somewhat afraid of being alone (it's woven into most apocalyptic films), but it seems "alone" isn't the word if you're near people.

anyway, i'm going to make my way through the sea of business-folk in the frantic financial district to pick up my final paycheck at the old job before my wallet gets lonely. it's more than slightly overdue, but what should i have expected from them?