The air outside so soft is saying everything...

Another heart-on-my-sleeve post, for your entertainment needs.

I feel adrift. Not in a cosmic, what-does-it-all-mean way, or even a smaller, where-am-I-going way. Not even in a Talking Heads how-did-I-get-here way.

I feel unmoored, pale and shivvering.

I feel disconnected. Unplugged.

I don't feel like I've truly communicated with anyone in a long time. Everything is surface level, easy, simple. I haven't bared my soul to anyone in...years, maybe. Even my closest friends are arm's-length intimate. The sense of community that I feel with the friends at church lasts only one, maybe two days a week, at most. But for the other five, I'm a lone wayfaring stranger.

My family lives close enough that I see them twice a week. I know this is more than many people my age. I know this is more than most of you get to see your folks or folk-like people. But even so, I see them for a few hours, share a meal, and then I leave. Surface. Valuable, of course. Appreciated, of course. But surface.

I think the reason "it is not good for man to be alone" has nothing to do with sharing a bed or sharing a meal. It has everything to do with sharing a heart, a soul, thoughts, feelings, fears, hopes. Because when you can't do that, you start to go a little stircrazy inside your own head. You keep wanting break outside of yourself. You need communion.

Communion. A church term. And easily follows a church answer. "Talk to God. He'll listen. He's a friend that sticks closer than a brother. He's all you need. Kumbahya." And I understand that. But I'm still trying to figure out how to approach this Person that I owe so much to.

"When the servant who had been forgiven a great debt went back to his master's house, he felt awkward, uncomfortable, and out of place, for he knew that deep down, he was still unworthy. And no matter what the Master did to assuage him, it only made me feel worse. So he went out into the field to find another servant, an equal, with whom he could abide. While he looked for someone to talk to, he came upon another servant who owed him a few coins. And we all know how that turned out."

I just want another poor, broken human to talk to. Someone I can be completely genuine with. It's not good to be alone.

...

I was in the breakroom a few hours ago. I had gone in to fill my cup from the water cooler. I set it down and, before recognizing the impulse, punched the refrigerator door three times. Hard. Nobody heard or noticed. Why did I do it? I have no idea. The only connection I can make to it is when a gorilla at the zoo pulls on his bars, beats his chest, and screams.

I could use a primal scream right about now. But that won't do, right now.

The contrary voice in my head is berating me, calling me weak. A whining baby who is boohooing the fact that he's succeeded enough to live on his own and have a good job downtown. Oh, no. So sad. Away from all his friends because he's BEING A FRIGGING GROWN-UP.

He's right, you know. I know it too. I shouldn't complain. I have no reason to be upset, yet upset I am.

All this talk about "truly" communicating. I have to wonder: have I ever really done that?

Maybe once. Then I stopped. And it was over.

...

My site traffic rate is slowing. Not as many people hitting the page as before. It looks like I'll have a down month for the first time since I started monitoring visits and pageviews. It shouldn't matter to me. But I notice.

This isn't a plea for traffic. Just an observation.

...

A reader recently commented how I should "try dating" (har,har) and talked about sharing things with others. I teasingly commented back that I have friends for sharing things, unless what she was referring to was sharing romantic moments and saliva.

But damned if I don't wish I could be sharing those things too.

So yeah, she's probably right. I hereby withdraw my sarcasm.