i am finding a quiet, meloncholy joy in solitude here. people who come over tend to ask me about living alone, whether i am lonely. really, i tell them, not as much as i expected to be. i think i've never been as social as i've acted; often i find myself bored and uncomfortable at parties and the like, yet for some reason i've always forced myself to go to them. so instead now i am spending most my nights here alone, cooking and reading, homework and websurfing, yoga and writing. i call up old friends, think about the future, and home. and some nights i go out to a potluck or with some friends to the bar, some nights i have people over and we cook and sit on my floor. last night i watched the debate with my landpeople and their friends, and ate vietnamese take-out, and it was good. but i find i'm not lonely, on the whole, content in my little house with my books and my music and myself. and this: if i force myself to do things i don't like, the people i meet will like doing things i don't like, and if i become friends with them i will end up spending more time doing things i don't like. if i do the things i do like, i will meet fewer people, but they will be people with interests that coincide more closely with my own. like knitting naked in the creek, and making soup, and bellydancing. which is better.


though i do wish i had a cat.