As a single person living alone, the Sunday Scaries have evolved into the Friday Scaries. Without plans or social interaction (or positive touch…) what do we do besides work, monitor our TP rations, and romanticize our last shag? Yes, I exercise with my dog and do my best to make sh*tty crafts, but what else? Yes, I talk to my friends on FaceTime and do my best to network during virtual events, but how does one start, let alone nurture a partnership when in this ambiguous limbo? Who shares the quiet moments… offline?
We are all living different lives here at the close of 2020. Each with their own challenges and dark corners. I’m sure those in a loud house would kill for the silence and privacy of my own. I don’t take that for granted. But I suspect some may underestimate just how alone we are. I’ve been half-joking that my memoir about the pandemic will be called “Then the zoom call ends…and the silence is deafening.” Because… no matter how connected were are, for the Lone Ranger, the thoughts we want to share with others only happen when someone picks up. Once the call or video is done, those of us who are single, are completely alone. There’s no “after party” post virtual conference, or cheeky night cap after the zoom wedding. The organic synergy of meeting anyone new, let alone feeling pheromones, is filtered through our devices. Forget my eyes, my whole body needs a bluelight blanket this year.
I used to travel the world for work, mingling with a…petite curation of global lovers achieving dreams of their own. Things are quieter now, reduced to DMs and the occasional dirty audio message. Had I known I’d spend one of the finest years of my vintage (I’m 32 and in decent pandemic shape given the lack of social life,) on the shelf, I would have never boarded that flight back from Auckland March 20th. Thank everything for my dog, Martini (not a metaphor, she’s real.)
Godspeed single weekend warriors. At least we’re alone, together.
