It always happens this time of year…probably because I’m always home (somehow). I call it the ‘single funk’. It never fails. Every year for some reason this time of year I’m…single.
I come from a microscopic small town. The biggest event we have is something called the St. Anthony’s Feast, a small carnival the local church throws right before school gets out every year. I have gone every year of my life. Even when I’m living 3000 miles away most of the time, somehow I can’t escape the feast.
When I was a kid the feast was a serious highlight of my year. It marked the beginning of summer. It meant rides, zeppoli (fried bits of heaven with powdered sugar.. If you’ve never had it break the damn diet and eat some), and goofing off around the giant church parking lot with my friends. As you get older, however, it becomes something else. It’s where you take your family, or your significant other, as a first exposure to what it means to be with someone from Hawthorne. The feast is a formal invitation into our culture, into a town that doesn’t allow new people in all that easily and will shun you like hell when you go.
This year… I feel more lonely than I think I ever felt while in San Francisco. I no longer have a single friend in my home town. Many acquaintances still, but no friends. Dragon was the last, and she and I haven’t spoken in about a month.
I’ve become almost a local myth in this town, which amuses me. I’ve spent the week walking around and watching as the mothers gossip and the kids a couple years younger than me recognize me..barely. Their eyes widen, and I hear at least one go “Is that really her? Holy hell!” Have I changed so much since I left this place?
Yeah… probably. I no longer blend in. I hold my head higher. I know that I am beautiful, desirable, and a damn catch to the lucky guy (or guys..) who gets me. I make no apologize for who I am and where I live. I stand on my own two feet. No one knows what to do with me because of this. They all expected me to be back east by now, having come to my senses and realizing that my roots would always be my home and that there was no point in leaving. They didn’t expect me to move out west for good.
I’m not sure that I expected to move out for good, not all the way to California. And yet I’m in the process of doing just that, and I’m happy with my choice on top of it all. I like my life, I like who I am, but trust my home town to rub in my face what my life lacks.
Tonight I will go to the feast with my baby sister, because that is what you do when you are from this town. I will eat zeppoli and try to win my little sister a prize, and I will try to ignore the strange looks from the people who half remember the little shadow that used to live here, and hated every second of it.
Jase’s new girlfriend is making her presence very much known on Facebook…and maybe that is part of my funk, although I hate to admit it. I hate to admit that her existing, that him having moved on, bothers me. I don’t even know the man he is anymore…let her have him. Says logical me.
Emotional me is crying a little, missing the friend and the relationship, and hating her just because of who she is. That he has someone and that I am alone, at least in the romance department. I have play partners, yes, but an emotional connection? Not yet. No one I could bring to the feast, or ask to meet my parents. Nothing that can be pulled from the BDSM world into the vanilla world. Outside of BDSM, to everyone else I am single.
I always am this time of year.
Yours flying solo, and missing San Francisco